


The Variables in the Solution

by sasin (le_assian)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Canon Related, Gen, Other, Pre-Avatar: Legend of Korra, Spoilers for Avatar: The Legend of Korra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_assian/pseuds/sasin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We know how the story ends and how it began, but between his flight from Yakone and his brother and his appearance as leader of the greatest non-bender movement in recent history, what became of the man once known as Noatak? </p><p>Meant to explore the formative years of Noatak's teenage and young adult life, this story seeks to create one person's interpretation -- that is, mine -- of what might have driven Noatak into the interestingly complex and contradictory character I see Amon is. </p><p>Will have themes of abuse, depression, and violence, although nothing, I anticipate, outrageously gory. Warnings will be updated as we go along as necessary, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for stopping by and reading this. Obviously LOK has been over for a while now (cry), but this story has been bouncing around in my head for years now, and I actually did try and write it once on fanficion.net (/s/8564015/1/The-Variables-in-the-Solution), but that was a couple of years ago and I had to discontinue it for a multitude of reasons. But it's been a while and I do believe I have a good grasp on where I want to go, plus I have the time, etc., etc. 
> 
> So obviously this is all completely out of my head, theories, and hypotheses. I rooted it as much in canon as I could (because it's fun that way), but obviously between, like, 15 year old Noatak and like 40 year old Amon, the 25 year space in time leaves a lot of creative wiggle room that I'm taking advantage of. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy. Please review if you feel strongly inclined to do so, and if you have questions or comments you're welcome to leave them here or send them to my writing Tumblr account, thelordwrites. Whatever you're comfortable with! Hope to see you around :)

The cold is absolute.

Noatak wonders, numbly, if this is how he will die. He supposes, however, that if this is how his story will end, it is not, really, as bad as it could have been. Not as bad as he thought it’d be, by far. Dying in a blizzard might be painless, even. He’ll probably be too numb to feel anything, or fall asleep in the snow before he actually dies. It wouldn’t be so bad, he figures.

He is not yet completely convinced, however, and clings to life. He bends his back against the unforgiving chill and narrows his eyes against the snow. His parka is lined with fur and had been brushed over with dolphin-whale oil, but still the blizzard pierces unforgivingly past it, stinging his bones and leaving him feeling brittle. His hands are clenched in his mittens and shoved underneath his armpits, and even though he’s staring at himself dragging them, Noatak cannot feel his feet. The only evidence he has that they are still attached is the fact that he is still standing.

And through it all, in the ghastly howl of the storm, he still hears Tarrlok’s echoing wail: _Don’t leave, please!_

Not for the first time that night, Noatak looks back, furtively, over his shoulder. Is he hoping Tarrlok is there, and he and his little brother could travel the world together like they had promised when they were younger? Or is he secretly relieved there is, in fact, no one behind him, and he has left his past behind, it seems, for good?

These are questions too emotionally difficult for his half-frozen brain to muddle through, at the moment. All he knows is his chest gives a pained ache whenever he thinks about Tarrlok’s face when he left—or is it because of the cold?

 _He just looked so_ betrayed _. And you called him_ weak _. For what, caring about mom? How could you do that to him? How could you leave him? You call yourself a brother?_ a small voice sneers at him.

 _But I hated it_ , another hisses back. _I_ hated it _there. No one can blame me for leaving. No one can say I was wrong._

Wearily, Noatak quells these voices and hunches his shoulders further, continues to put one foot in front of the other, furrows his brow in deep focus. He should consider waterbending himself an igloo or something, _anything_ to break the constant, unforgiving blast of cold blizzard air freezing the tips of his hair. What he wouldn’t give to be a firebender, in this moment.

 _But you aren’t_ , the same small, harsh voice snaps at him. _You’re a waterbender_. And he hates himself for it.

And despite himself, he cannot bring himself to move his hands from their relative warmth underneath his arms. At least he can still feel his fingers.

But he is _sure_ he cannot feel his toes—a bad sign, he acknowledges dryly. This is the sort of foolish, impulsive planning _Tarrlok_ would do…

Noatak fiercely pushes the thoughts of Tarrlok—and the reflexive image of his large blue eyes, his broken face of disbelief, the vague hopelessness starting to creep into his expression (“He was right about you—you _are_ a weakling”)—from his mind, returning all of his energy into walking. _Keep walking_. He could not stop walking. This is a fact that he knew and valiantly held onto. An absolute truth. _Keep walking. Keep walking_.

Father will be furious. He’ll spend days trying to find Noatak. He’ll take all his anger out on Tarrlok. The thought makes Noatak’s blood run, impossibly, even colder than it already is. Slowly, the magnitude of what he has just done seems to dawn on him. He has left his younger brother at the mercy of a former crime lord. He has left his younger brother at the mercy of a man who tried to use his own sons as weapons of revenge. He has left his younger brother to care for an ignorant, stupid, naïve woman who couldn’t see the truth (“Don’t say that about mom,” Tarrlok pouted to Noatak once. “She doesn’t know. How could she know?” But she should’ve. _She should’ve_ …).

Tarrlok will be stuck in that house forever, probably, without Noatak to look out for him.

Dimly, he is aware that he has stopped walking—he must’ve, because his cheek is cold and half his face is in snow, and he’s pretty sure he’s lying down.

 _Get up_. He needs to go _back_. What was he thinking, abandoning Tarrlok like that? He should’ve tried harder to convince him. No, he should’ve _forced_ him to come with Noatak—it’s not like he couldn’t have (even though the act of bloodbending his own brother almost made him throw up right in front of their father), Noatak thinks bitterly. He was just so angry and frustrated—the _one time_ Noatak tries to be some selfless fucking hero, and father punishes him for it hard—but he was hasty.

 _I take it back_ , Noatak thinks vaguely as his vision begins to fade. His body begins to panic, and he feels a few weak, desperate shivers ripple across his body—a physical container’s hasty, instinctive attempt to survive, even for just a few moments.

 _I’ll go back_ , Noatak promises someone— _anyone_ who will get him out of this, if just to keep his little brother safe. _I won’t run again—just keep him_ safe…


	2. 1.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter gruff but caring large tough man trope.

PART I: REBIRTH

He is aware he is alive and feeling before he actually wakes. He is aware of _consciousness_ , of the sensation of lying down and the fact that it wasn’t cold anymore, and that his mind is alive enough to think for itself and know these things.

Unless, of course, he is actually dead, and Noatak is just in the Spirit World.

Slowly, he pulls open his eyes and takes in his environment from just his position underneath a think fur blanket. The home is of Water Tribe design; its walls are rounded, and the roof is domed. The walls are lined with thin but sturdy strips of bark, and Noatak can spot bits of fur poking out between some of them—pelts, undoubtedly, to keep in the warmth. Hanging along the walls are a variety of Water Tribe hunting and battle gear, as well as spoils of war: helmets, spears, knives, a whole pelt of a leopard-bear, a variety of backpacks and knapsacks—but a distinct lack of tapestries and less _feral_ decorum. Things Noatak’s mother would often adorn the walls with.

When Noatak tries to move, he becomes aware that he is not wearing his own clothes. These are bigger—much too big—but they kept him warm, which he supposes was the intention. He pushes back the blanket of furs off of him and sits up gingerly. His hair falls over his shoulders. Someone undid it. Experimentally, he wiggles his fingers and toes and is relieved to find that he can not only feel all of them, but can move them as well. _Lucky_.

Now he raises his hands and prepares to bend something—any liquid he can find in here. He heard once that no one can bend in the Spirit World, which he figures wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing—when he hears the squeak of the door open, and he abruptly lays down again, pulls the blankets over him, closes his eyes, and feigns sleep.

His eyes are closed, but it doesn’t mean he’s blind; he hears the heavy footfalls of someone walk in—a man, he guesses, although he supposes it might just be a heavyset woman (although judging by the décor, he doubts it). They pause for a moment, perhaps to stop and look at Noatak in his bed, before he hears gear being removed: the click of bone knives and wood against each other, the soft sounds of gloves being removed and the clack of a helmet being placed on a hook on the wall.

And Noatak can hear the person’s heartbeat, as well—or, rather, feel it. Feel the ripples it sends through the person’s blood. The fact that he can makes him ill, but in truth, Noatak could never actually turn it off; it had always been a part of him since he was a child. He had never realized it is different for others until a few years ago. He is not supposed to hear the person’s heart echo in his chest, feel the tugs and ebbs of the blood in their veins along Noatak’s own skin. It is a strong heart, steady and healthy. An older person, Noatak decides, still in prime physical condition, although perhaps age is catching up to them, judging by the occasional, almost imperceptible splutter the heart gave.

“I know you’re awake,” an impatient voice rumbles through the home. “Open your eyes and help me with dinner—it’s rude to lie to your host like that, especially when they saved your life.”

With a start, Noatak blinks open his eyes. He is welcomed by the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered Water Tribe man, his face lined and rugged with a laudably long scar running perpendicular to the bridge of his nose. His dark hair is beginning to gray, but his head is still predominantly black, tied back in a half ponytail. Strung on his neck are a variety of animal teeth and deep blue beads. He shrugs on an anorak before saying flatly, “If you want to fake sleeping, don’t have such a serious expression on. I could practically hear you thinking from here.”

Noatak isn’t sure what to say, but he opens his mouth anyway. “I—”

“Forget about it,” the man says impatiently. “Get the fire started.”

He doesn’t even say please, but as he had said, he had saved Noatak’s life. He supposes that means he does not really owe Noatak anything, and if he wants to be rude there’s not much Noatak can say about it. Warily, Noatak rises from his bed and makes his way towards the fire pit in the middle of the home.

“Wood’s outside,” the man tells him as he rummages through a cupboard and pulls out a cutting board and a knife. Wordlessly, Noatak slips out the door.

The tundra is flat and quiet. Beautiful, really, in that muted sort of way. Expansive and infinite, covered in powdered snow and ice and extending towards the horizon. The sun is beginning to set, so its rays do not painfully reflect off the snow’s surface, as it is prone to do during midday. Reflexively, he rakes back his hair and pulls it back into a ponytail, pleasantly surprised to find his hair tie is around his wrist.

It’s peaceful, and for a moment Noatak just stares and thinks about nothing, reveling in the silence.

After a moment, he turns to the right side of the house, and he sees a pile of neatly chopped wood just as the man had said there would be, kept down by a net weighed down by stones. Of course. Did Noatak think he would lie?

He walks over to the wood pile before pausing and glancing towards the house’s entrance. He hadn’t noticed before, but this house sits by itself, without a village around. Did this man live by himself? It is such a foreign concept that Noatak hesitates for a moment. In the Water Tribes, it is typical to live in at least a moderately sized village—not even for the sake of having others to talk to, but for the sake of basic survivability. The tundra is unforgiving, and bouts of frostbite, hypothermia, and even common colds means individual survival chances are slim. It is more convenient and, frankly, intelligent to live in groups.

Noatak is suddenly seized by the temptation to run. This man is alone, in the ice and snow. There is nothing he can offer Noatak, and honestly, he suddenly feels much more in danger knowing he is completely isolated with a stranger. Admittedly, he could likely bloodbend the man into submission if he has to, but he would greatly prefer to just leave now, make sure this man never hears about him again…

He throws off the netting from the wood and begins picking up a few pieces. The man is offering a meal and, presumably, a place to stay for at least one night. And even though it is summer, blizzards are still common—as seen from last night, and that was a tamer one, Noatak knew. It would be foolish, he decides, to leave now. Best to see what the man has to offer, bide his time.

If the man notices the disproportionately long time Noatak took to gather a few pieces of firewood when he returns inside, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he waves Noatak over as he completes chopping up a slab of meat and some vegetables. Noatak idly wonders how the man attained these vegetables all by his lonesome.

Noatak silently sets up a fire—a task that had been often assigned to him at home and during the “hunting trips” with his father. He grasps the flint that had been waiting patiently on the floor near the man’s knee and sets the neat crisscross pile of wood alight.

“Nicely done,” the man says with a vaguely impressed tone as Noatak encouragingly blows the flames. Despite himself, he feels a small swelling of pride in his chest. No one had ever complimented him for his fire making skills before, and the fact that such flat praise affects him this way is beyond stupid, but nevertheless, Noatak straightens in a slightly better mood.

As the meat cooks on a spit, the man says, “Alright, guess it’s a good time for introductions, eh?”

He looks at Noatak expectantly, and with a small jump he says, “I’m”— _Don’t say your actual name, idiot!_ —“Tarrlok.”

If the man notes Noatak’s brief hesitance, he doesn’t give any indication as such. Noatak finds he appreciates this man’s respect for privacy.  

“I’m Naruq,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Naruq,” Noatak says politely. He bows a little from his kneeling position on the floor, even though the act of exposing his bare neck to anyone makes his nervous. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Naruq waves off the gratitude with scathing criticism. “Wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t stupid enough to wander around in the middle of a blizzard. You’re lucky it’s the middle of summer, not winter. You sure you’re a Water Tribe kid? What did your parents even teach you, eh? Apparently nothing useful.”

Noatak endures the verbal attacks with tight lips. Best not to let anything slip past in a smart remark. And when Noatak does not rise to the bait, Naruq snorts and checks the meat.

“What were you doing out there, kid?” Naruq asks with a somewhat more serious tone, and Noatak frowns minutely.

“I’m—uh, I—I was…” Noatak stammers for words as he watched Naruq turn the meat on the spit, at a loss. How much should he say?

“Forget it,” Naruq solves the problem for him. “Your business is your business. You look old enough to respect that.” Naruq gives Noatak a critical look. “How old are you, anyway?”

This, Noatak figures would not be too bad if he answers straight. “Fifteen.”

Naruq snorts again. “Close enough.” He goes back to inspecting the meat, and the conversation runs cold until the meal is prepared. Naruq slides the flank of whatever animal he killed off the spit and slices off handsome pieces for the both of them. He had stuffed the vegetables inside of the meat, and they spill out as he cuts it open. Noatak eagerly digs in before asking three bites in, “Naruq, sir—sorry, I hope you don’t mind me asking—it’s your business, so if you don’t want to answer—”

“For Spirits’ sake, kid, spit it out.”

“Why are you out here by yourself? Don’t you have a village or…?” he trails off.

To his surprise, Naruq answers quickly and easily. “Had a bit of a falling out with the chief of the village I was in. Story behind this.” With a ferociously amused grin, he jabs a thumb at the scar across his nose. “We couldn’t compromise, so I moved out.”

“He banished you?”

“Nah,” Naruq says into his plate. “Pride got in the way. Pride’s still in the way. The chief was my best friend, before this happened. I could probably go back anytime I want to, and he’d probably welcome me back with open arms—but that’d be like admitting I was wrong, eh?”

“I—I guess,” Noatak agrees, nonplussed. “What was the argument about?”

Naruq snorts. “What other idiot reason in Spirits’ name would two young men ruin their friendship over? A girl, kid.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_. I take it you haven’t had your heart stolen, kid?”

“I—No, I wouldn’t say—”

“Well, just you wait,” Naruq amusedly stabs the air in front of Noatak with his fork. “You’ll get there. Then you’ll see. Men go crazy over girls.”

With a bemused frown, Noatak returns to his meal.

When they both finish, Naruq picks up the dishes and places them in a sink before returning to the fire.

“So,” he says, businesslike, “how long you staying for, kid?”

Noatak saw this question coming but still did not have an adequately succinct answer. “I—I’m not sure. I’d…I’d like to stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

Naruq raises a heavy eyebrow. “Kid, as long as you pull your weight, I don’t mind having an extra body around. But I doubt you want to stay here for the rest of your life, eh?”

Noatak had not been expecting this. He hesitates before saying, “Yes, you’re right. I—I mean, I don’t know; I didn’t really have a real…plan,” he finishes lamely.

“Didn’t need you to tell me that, kid,” Naruq says bluntly. “Finding you without supplies out in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard told me that already.”

Noatak feels himself flush a bit.

“But, if you don’t want to stay, guess that means you’re looking to travel somewhere. Sound about right?”

Noatak nods once. The more distance he can put between himself and his father, the better.

Naruq scratches his chin. “Then, in that case, I can take you to this trading village a couple days travel from here. It’s where I get a lot of my supplies, so I was going to go there soon, anyway. It’s a port town, so likely they’ll take you somewhere interesting.” He pauses before asking, “You a waterbender?”

Noatak is so surprised by the sudden question he doesn’t even consider lying. “Yes.”

Naruq nods. “They like waterbenders. Make it easier to sail through rough waters. You’ll probably be let on a ship.”

“I’m—I’m not that good,” Noatak says, because while he is a prodigal bloodbender, his waterbending education is comparatively deplorable. He’s not completely sure he could split apart a storm wave if he has to.

“Don’t have to be,” Naruq snorts. “Just say you’re a waterbender and make some water do some pretty stuff in front of them, and you’ll be given passage. And once you’re sailing—I mean, they won’t throw you off.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re good folk,” Naruq shrugs. “They’re not going to throw a kid overboard.”

Noatak supposes that’s fair. “That sounds good, then. I’d appreciate if you took me there.”

“Consider it done, kid,” Naruq says. He rises and stifles Noatak’s offer to do the dishes.

“Look, kid,” Naruq says seriously, “I don’t know what kind of past you’re dealing with, and I don’t need to know, but I figure if a fifteen year old boy is wandering out alone in a snowstorm, you’ve been dealing with some tough stuff.” He turns and says over his shoulder, “Relax a bit, eh? You almost died out there.”

Noatak isn’t sure how to react to this, so he just mutters “Thank you” and returns to his bed, where he crawls under the sheets and stares at the ceiling.

He doesn’t fall asleep immediately, but turns on his side and watches Naruq finish washing the plates before returning to the fire, where he sets upon cleaning off his hunting gear. The fire gleams off the surfaces of the bone knives and spearheads, and Naruq takes time wiping off and sharpening each one. It reminds Noatak of what his father would do, and how, when they were younger, he and Tarrlok would beg their father to let them touch and play with his fancy weapons. Their mother, if Noatak remembered correctly, thought it was adorable.

 _The good days_ , Noatak thinks to himself bitterly. Naruq casts a glance at him, perhaps sensing the shift in mood in the house, but Noatak turns onto his back again and glares at the ceiling. The sooner he sheds his past, the better, he figures. And for the most part, he is eager to abandon the memories of his home behind: his father, his mother, bloodbending, all of it. But what sticks with him is the haunted face of his brother, fading fast as Noatak left him in a storm.

How many times would he need to leave his brother behind?

Naruq eventually finishes his maintenance and replaces his weapons and gear in their appropriate places on the walls and in his storage. He leaves the fire going, throwing in a couple more pieces of wood to keep it alive for a few more hours, before getting into bed himself in a pile of blankets on the other side of the home. After a few minutes, Naruq falls asleep—judging by the steady rise and fall of his shoulders and the relaxed rhythm of his heartbeat, at least—leaving Noatak alone with his thoughts.  

For the first time in a while, Noatak realizes he feels more relaxed in this bed than he had in his own home. While the observation itself is depressing, Noatak only wishes doubly hard that he had tried to convince Tarrlok to come with him. They could both be here, together, enjoying Naruq’s blunt manner and heading towards wherever the trading ships would take them in a few days’ time. They would feel safe—or, safer, at least—far from their father’s grasp and isolated from other villages and populations. It is lucky, Noatak decides, that he ended up here; his father would look, perhaps, in very close villages to their campsite, but Noatak doubts he will be able to find one lone house surrounded by tundra.

 _First day free_ , Noatak thinks to himself tiredly, even though he does not feel free—not completely, at least. But more than he has felt in a while.

He slips into a fitful sleep a little while after that, fighting to keep the images of Tarrlok crying out his name and Tarrlok bending unnaturally at Noatak’s will from entering his dreams—and, predictably, failing.


	3. 1.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks with the gruff old guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They won't all end with him sleeping I swear.

Naruq tells Noatak the next morning that he will not be heading towards the neighboring port town for at least the next two days, which leaves the young man to his own devices for the most part until they leave—save for the odd job Naruq tells Noatak to do. This, however, Noatak does not mind; it is the least he can do, really, for Naruq saving his life, and he’s fairly certain if he was just left to sit around, he’d go insane anyway. More than once, he seriously considers running right there and now, take everything back, and try and return to his hometown. At least that way, he will be able to drag Tarrlok out of their house and never look back. He will be _insistent_ this time around, bloodbend his brother if he has to—

Even though that experience almost made Noatak throw up. If his father had not stopped him when he did, Noatak thought he really would’ve all over his father’s boots. He had not broken eye contact with Tarrlok the entire time, and seeing the true _fear_ in his eyes—fear for his brother, for _Noatak_ —almost made him cry out an apology. He’d never felt _truly_ guilty or despicable for being a bloodbender until that moment.

But this time would be for a good cause, Noatak convinces himself over and over. And it is not as if he bloodbent his brother before because he _wanted_ to anyway; he was trying to protect Tarrlok. That is what Noatak has _always_ tried to do.

 _Except you failed stupendously. Good job_.

He ignores these small, guilty voices and thinks instead that Naruq would help him get back to the village, if Noatak were to ask. He would go by himself—he’d prefer it that way—but without the right gear Noatak would not be able to navigate his way back home (he hardly knows where he collapsed in that blizzard, or which way he was going in the first place). And even though Noatak tells himself it is not, in the long run, a big deal compared to the safety of Tarrlok, he does not feel right about stealing the supplies from Naruq in the dead of night. Not now. Not after all he’d done.

 _Is this how far you’re willing to go?_ he hears that traitorous voice again. _That’s all you’ve got?_

Noatak had to admit it is. Realistically, he knows he will not leave for Tarrlok. He is unwilling to retrace the steps he had so painstakingly taken to separate himself from that place. What if he’s sucked right back in when he steps in that home? What if his father threatens the safety of Tarrlok to force Noatak to stay?

This may be his only chance at freedom. As guilty as he feels about it, Noatak cannot find the willingness to give it up for the chance Tarrlok may come with him this time around.

 _Some big brother_.

Noatak pushes these thoughts away and seeks out helpful things to do.

Luckily, as it turns out, living by oneself in the tundra meant there are more chores than Noatak remembered his own household of four having. Each morning, the fire is made and the food cooked before the dishes are washed and the fire is stifled as the pair of them leave the home. The Noatak follows Naruq out into the quiet sea of white, where Naruq leads them on a short hunt for the day’s meal. He confided that he usually does not hunt every day; with Noatak’s arrival, he wants to be sure there is enough food remaining for the rest of the week.

At first, Noatak is nervous about the hunting trips—for the obvious reasons. It reminded him of his father. He could almost still remember how excited he was for the _first_ hunting trip. The first of many. It had been soon after Tarrlok had shown signs of waterbending—about four months after Noatak had. If Noatak is being honest, he has to admit he had secretly hoped Tarrlok would not be a waterbender, although he only realized he had been wishing this _after_ Tarrlok triumphantly showed off the small orb of water floating in his hand to Noatak one evening. Tarrlok was already well liked, sociable, and a people-person, doted on by mother and father. Noatak, while friendly enough, was only ever truly open with Tarrlok, and even then…there was always something that seemed to stiffen, something within him that couldn’t quite go along with his younger brother. It was why Noatak was so guiltily excited to find he could waterbend but Tarrlok could not; for once, their father seemed to give him a bit more special attention, although at the time Noatak had not realized how sinister this attention would become.

But Noatak loved Tarrlok, regardless, so when he showed Noatak that orb of water, Noatak burst into excited exclamations and shoved down the bitter feelings threatening to heave out of his mouth.

 _Mother_ was excited, of course. She threw a miniature celebration for Tarrlok—and, of course, Noatak, she insisted, although Noatak was and is not prone to believe her. _Not that it matters_ , Noatak reminds himself as he kneels in the snow next to Naruq and focuses his breathing, so he does not alert other animals of their presence. _Stupid woman. Not worth the effort_.

At the time, however, the small realization that mother may _ever so slightly_ favor Tarrlok over Noatak cut deeper than he thought possible. It would be a while until he figured out the cold, morose feeling he had experienced that dinner, even though he was sitting at a dinner table surrounded by delicious food and his family, is called “loneliness”.

Noatak did not have much time to feel sorry for himself, however; at the end of that dinner, father had asked if they would like to go hunting.

“A rite of passage,” he insisted in a booming, excited voice, a smile on his face. “My two boys—waterbenders!” There had been a spark of something in his eyes then, like a part of him rekindled after he realized his sons were benders both. Noatak wonders, now, if it was then his father’s mind began working on his plan of revenge; how long it would take to tutor his sons in the way of bloodbending? Perhaps it was then they had truly lost their father.

With a firm but controlled nudge, Naruq calls Noatak back to reality. “Look sharp, Tarrlok”—Noatak wishes he had given a better alias; hearing his brother’s name regularly just sends a swooping ache through his gut—“we’ve got a couple of lives ones, eh?”

Naruq doesn’t need to tell _Noatak_ that; he could feel the fluttering hearts of the jackalopes before they bounded into sight, their brown summer fur in sharp contrast to the snow. Their hearts are small and quick and panicked, even without sensing danger. It’s because they’re so small, Noatak supposes. They had been one of the easiest live subjects to take control of—kind of like overgrown tundra rats. With horns.

As he watches, he sees one pair of delicate antlers rise minutely and pause. The jackalope’s ears twitch slightly in the silence. Did it sense predators nearby? Or perhaps the uncomfortable, sick feeling of someone or some _thing_ beginning to pull at its insides, commanding it to stay still for just a little while longer, allow it to be gracefully speared by—

Naruq did not waste a second. Swiftly, he rises from his position on the ground and shoots an arrow, fast and true, right into the jackalope’s eye. _Good aim_ , Noatak thinks appreciatively before giving a glance at the next jackalope and subtly influencing it to remain rooted to the spot for just a bit more. He feels the strain it puts against its own bones, the rising panic of its pulse as it realizes it no longer has control of its own body, and he feels the familiar, if somewhat muted, sensations of true illness and rush of power.

As expected, Naruq gets that jackalope too, and he proceeds to collect them in his bag them and leaves Noatak to wait in the snow. He sits up now and sighs minutely, staring at the jackalope bodies.

 _You didn’t need to do that_ , Noatak chastises himself. _Naruq would’ve gotten them without your help_. Naruq is a skilled huntsman—the weaponry and hides decorating the walls of his home are evidence enough—and Noatak is sure he would not be happy knowing he was helped by a psychic bloodbender.

 _You didn’t need to do that_ , Noatak reminds himself again, and wills himself to keep this in mind for next time. He cannot afford to slip up. Bloodbending is behind him now, he tells himself.

Even though it seems to be the one thing he is good at. He is bitter about this—unjustifiably so. The one thing he’s good at—and it’s an illegal, dark bending art. _Parasite_.

“This should be enough for the next couple of nights, eh?” Naruq appears beside Noatak again. The presence is so sudden he actually jumps. He had not even noticed Naruq’s approaching heartbeat.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yes,” Noatak replies—perhaps a shade too quickly. “I’m fine. Thank you. Yes, those look good.”

Naruq gives Noatak a quizzical look, but, as is customary for him, he doesn’t pry. Instead he gives an agreeable nod at the compliment towards the meat and begins to lead them back home.

“Stop dragging your feet, kid,” Naruq calls over his shoulder as Noatak hurries to catch up. “Got to store some of the salted meat and gather firewood before the light’s gone.”

Naruq already has so much firewood Noatak wonders why he thinks he needs more, but doesn’t question it. Instead he moves his feet slightly faster, trailing after the large boot tracks the older man makes in the snow. Naruq continues a conversation about something trivial—how the meat should be prepared that evening—but it keeps Noatak preoccupied and his thoughts away from Tarrlok. Later (much later), he wonders if Naruq meant it that way.

When they drop off the meat in the house, Naruq takes out dried, salted slabs of meat from the drying rack and meets Noatak outside, where he places them in a bag he has brought out with him. Then he goes back in and comes back with an axe and a small sled—for the firewood, Noatak assumes.

“So,” Naruq says briskly, “a waterbender, eh?”

Noatak feels a small jolt of panic. Had Naruq noticed something strange with the jackalopes?

“Get that stupid look off your face, kid. You said you’re a waterbender, didn’t you?”

“I—Yes, I did, but I don’t—? Like I said, I’m not that good—”

“Calm down, kid,” Naruq says with a raised eyebrow. “I just was going to ask you to start bending some snow away. If you can handle it, that is.”

 _Stupid._ “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Naruq says briskly. He guides them a ways away from the home, where a few marked sticks are poking up from the snowy ground.

“Do me a favor and bend off the snow around the ones marked black, eh?”

Obediently, Noatak bends his legs and lifts his arms up in a smooth breath. Snow mounds dutifully shift up into the air and away from the markers, where Noatak coaxes them into a pile before repeating the process to the other three markers. Beneath the snow are barrels, where Noatak can only assume are pieces of frozen, preserved meat.

Naruq bends down and begins to lift one out with a slight grunt—it is heavy, undoubtedly, and likely frozen into the packed snow. Deftly, Noatak raises his hands and arms and uses the ice around and in the barrel to lift out the one Naruq is over. Upon seeing the barrel twitch, Naruq sits back and allows Noatak to do his thing.

Noatak always thought it was strange that he has too use his hands when, with bloodbending, he only had to _think_ about making someone move and they would do it. Wasn’t it just an extension of regular waterbending? To be fair, however, Noatak had never tried psychic waterbending. It is a possibility that had never been properly explored by him—courtesy of his father, of course. _Everything_ could be traced back to his father.

 _But is that really right?_ that small voice in him says again. _Was it really your father, or was it_ —?

“Tarrlok.”

Noatak looks up from his thoughts to find that he has not lowered the barrel to the ground. The barrel plummets down as Noatak gives an embarrassed flush.

“Watch it,” Naruq says, although he doesn’t sound upset. Instead he rolls the barrel upright and uses a hammer to pound the edges and loosen the lid. He looks inside before saying, “These look good. Let’s put these in here”—he indicates to his large bag, where the raw meat is wrapped inside—“and put the new ones in.” Here he takes out the meat from the bag and waves it a little. With a short nod, Noatak reaches inside the barrel with his gloved hands and attempts to bring the meat out—with little success. It is all frozen together, and hard and slippery.

“Normally I’d have to leave it out all day tomorrow to let it thaw enough,” Naruq says, “but when you’ve got a waterbender…”

Noatak doesn't need any more encouragement. He falls back into his readying stance.

“Just, you know, actually put it down this time.”

It is meant to be a harmless joke, but Noatak’s face heats and he murmurs and apology anyway. Naruq looks him over before shrugging and saying, “Not a big deal, kid. Learn to loosen up.”

Noatak mutters his assent before concentrating on the ice particles keeping the meat together. Unwilling to mimic his mishap earlier, he this time opts to simply melt the ice around the meat. When Naruq sees the water beginning to drain from the barrel, he glances inside quickly and sticks his hand in.

“That’s enough,” he says to Noatak, who starts and stops bending. “Don’t want to dry out the meat too much.”

Noatak nods and begins helping Naruq taking out the new meat from the bag and putting them in the snow before placing the old meat from the barrel into the bag. Then they begin alternating layers of meat and packs of fresh snow in the barrel, before Naruq and Noatak both lift the barrel and lower it into the previous hole. While Naruq replaces the black marker with a white one, Noatak replaces the snow over this hole and all others in the area.

“Nice work, kid,” Naruq says before shoving the meat bag in Noatak’s face. Surprised, Noatak takes it.

"Going to get some firewood now,” Naruq says.

“Where?” Noatak cannot resist asking with an incredulous tone. He glances around for effect, and he does not see a forest in sight.

“Forest is a way’s away,” Naruq says, “but it’s got to be done. The trip is a couple of hours, but don’t worry; thanks to your help I’ve got plenty of light left.”

Noatak glances up at the sky and sees the sun is still high and well above their heads.

“Still,” Noatak frowns, “let me come with you. I can drop this off and meet you back here.”

“Don’t worry about it; take a break, kid.”

“I don’t need one,” Noatak insists. “Really, I want to help!”

“Kid,” Naruq almost looks as if he is about to roll his eyes. “Take a break.”

Noatak blinks before relaxing a little. Naruq must’ve noticed how unfocused Noatak had been. Well, it is not as if Noatak made it particularly difficult to see.

“I understand,” Noatak sighs a little. “Alright, I’ll see you later, then.”

Naruq nods in satisfaction before turning his back and heading westward. “You know the way back, eh?” he calls behind his shoulder, and Noatak says after him, “Yes, don’t worry!”

Naruq throws one hand up to indicate that he has heard, and with that Noatak turns around himself and walks back to the house, where he hangs up the meat on the rack and places the bag alongside the others on the wall. He figures if it is not in its proper place, Naruq will move it appropriately.

After Noatak makes a fire, he is left with nothing to do but deal with his own thoughts. He hugs his knees and stares at the flames, a deep frown creasing his forehead. To his surprise, he finds himself worrying about Naruq out in the tundra by himself. Noatak reminds himself that Naruq has done this countless times without anyone’s help, much less the help of a fifteen year old boy, and Naruq could handle himself. Yet, after a day, Naruq has earned a place within Noatak’s concern.

 _That’s natural_ , he tells himself. _He saved your life_.

But Noatak’s mother birthed and raised him, and he didn’t give a damn about her. He knows how cold this is, but it is a fact he had long since accepted. One day, he woke up and heard his mother say good morning to him, and found that he did not have a shred of love for the woman that had been sitting in front of him. There was just … nothing. Even now, all he feels towards her is apathy, at best. At worst, he feels a deep, seething loathing. Nothing compared to what he felt towards his father, of course, but still, there is a part of Noatak that felt like acid whenever he thought of his mother.

When had he lost his love for his own _mother_? Family is important in the Water Tribes; extended relatives often live in the same homes as immediate ones. The Water Tribes are all about community, support, and having family and friends that will be there during times of greatest change. Noatak knew all this, yet whenever he thought of his own parents, he felt numb.

It was when his father had started taking Noatak and Tarrlok out on hunting trips, Noatak finally decides. After a couple of them, Noatak had been so frustrated his mother had not noticed—hadn’t seen something was wrong—why Tarrlok was having more nightmares and crying to himself in the middle of the night.

 _She should’ve known_ , Noatak thinks to himself harshly, his grip on his arms tightening and his brow creasing. But Tarrlok had always been so quick to defend her…

But, as usual, the root of the problem is his father. Noatak moodily collapses onto his side and glares at the fire. If his father had not been a bloodbender, if his father had not taken them out on hunting trips, if they had just not been waterbenders—

—If his father had not lost his bending.

 _Aang_. What is it like, Noatak wonders, to have the power to take away bending? It is like the Avatar is like a Spirit, or some sort of deity. If he wants to, Avatar Aang could just go around and take away everyone’s bending whenever he felt like—who would stop him? He could even overpower the psychic bloodbending of _Yakone_.

Naruq returns sometime later, and after he prepares dinner, Noatak asks him, “Naruq, what do you think of bending?”

Naruq, evidently surprised Noatak is initiating a conversation, looks up from his meal. “What about it?”

“I mean,” Noatak frowns as he tries to formulate his question. “Just…what’s your opinion on it?”

“Don’t have much of an opinion,” Naruq shrugs noncommittally before taking a bite and chewing meditatively. “I mean, it’s helpful, sure—like you and your waterbending today.”

“But you’re not a bender, right?” Noatak presses. “Do you ever feel…I don’t know… _jealous_? Or—or _weak_ , or…?” Noatak trails off and makes a face. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to call you weak. I was just…I don’t know. Forget it.”

“Look, kid,” Naruq puts down his empty bowl and looks at Noatak straight in the eye. “Sure, you’re a waterbender, and if you wanted to do some sort of fancy water trick that puts a bubble around my head and drowns me, you sure could. I couldn’t do anything about it, at least,” he shrugs again, ignoring Noatak’s uncomfortable expression.

“Thing is, if I wanted to jump you and strangle you right now with my own two hands, I’m pretty certain I’d strangle you before you could do a fancy water move to get me off,” Naruq says bluntly again. “Bottom line is, yeah, you benders, you’ve got some advantages. Some more than others, sometimes. But it’s what you do with it that counts. For every rotten bender that abuses his power, there’s ten more good ones just wanting to make a living.” Naruq pauses to drink from his cup of tea.

“And is it a little unfair? Maybe. I don’t know. I lived in a village for most of my life, and by myself out here for the rest. I hear in the cities, some benders get better jobs because they can do the work better than nonbenders can—but all I _know_ is that, when my dad was hurting from a cut in his side, the waterbender healer patched him up faster than any nonbender could’ve. And when, one summer, it was hotter than we expected, and everything started flooding, and the waterbenders in the village froze everything and stopped it. And when I needed help today, you did it, and you got rid of at least a day’s worth of work just by thawing out the meat by yourself.” Naruq clears his throat, perhaps surprised he has said so much, before continuing, “You get the hand you’re dealt. Life’s not fair sometimes—that’s just how it is. I’m not saying it’s perfect, and yeah, sometimes I wish I was a bender to make some work go faster, but I’ve got my skills, and you’ve got yours. That’s why people come together, and live together.”

When Noatak does not seem entirely convinced, Naruq gives a snort and says into his tea cup, “Look, kid, whenever I feel _weak_ around you, I’ll let you know.”

At this, Noatak is tempted to give a short, dry laugh of his own. If only Naruq knew just how _helpless_ Noatak could make him feel, right now…

Noatak washes the dishes today, and when he crawls into his bedding, it is Naruq that puts out the fire. Noatak lies silently in the dark for a while, meditating on Naruq’s words. All in all, he knew Naruq meant it to be encouraging, but he could not help but focus on one part of it: _Life’s not fair sometimes. That’s just how it is_.

 _Why is that?_ Noatak thinks to himself frustratedly. _Why is life unfair?_ He rolls around underneath his blanket with a scowl on his face.

 _Second day free_ , Noatak says to himself, finally shoving away his other, more complicated thoughts in favor of sleep—and entertains himself with dreams of Tarrlok and Noatak in a _normal_ life, with a loving family.

 _Where life is_ fair _,_ Noatak thinks firmly before drifting off.


	4. 1.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gruff old guy shares jokes with flirty cool girl at small awkward boy's expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Hell that took an age to update. Sorry, those of you following along; school has been taking up all of my time, but I work on this when I can! Hopefully I can at least update twice a month in the future ...

Naruq shakes Noatak awake on the third day. His voice is still gravelly from sleep ( _or_ , Noatak thinks to himself dryly, _more gravelly than usual_ ), and he gruffly tells Noatak to get ready to head out. With a vague groan, Noatak sits up from his bed and rakes a hand through his hair.

“Well, don’t just sit there, kid,” Naruq says from across the home. “You want to get out of here or don’t you?”

Blearily, Noatak stands at last and pulls his hair back in a haphazard ponytail before going to brush his teeth and wash off his face outside. It’s strange, he reflects, that Naruq lives so simply yet has the luxuries of quality toothpaste. He supposes it’s because of the nearby trading village.

The sky is still pitch dark, perhaps slightly purpling. That doesn’t bother Noatak; in the winters, it would be dark until close to noon, then go dark again near four or five in the afternoon. Tarrlok was always bothered by the dark, but for Noatak, it was always easy to tolerate—but perhaps it is because he has never felt blind in it. His natural affinity for bloodbending had always left him hyper sensitive to even the faintest hearbeats nearby, even when he is not trying. Even now, he feels the faint hums of life around him.

 _Water is life_ , Noatak thinks to himself as he rinses out his mouth and waterbending cold water on his face, waking himself up. _And blood is proof of it._

Noatak returns back inside to find Naruq has effectively packed everything up for their journey, already. There is a sled with a multitude of supplies on it—primarily the meat Naruq had Noatak dig up the day before, along with some knives and spears, and a couple of carved wood charms.

“Why do you need these?” Noatak asks as he bends down and flips one over in his hand. It looks like a penguin. He runs a thumb over its spread flippers. _Tarrlok would like this_. If it had been any other time, Noatak would buy this for him.

He replaces the charm back in his place as Naruq says, “It’s a trading village, kid. Got to exchange something for something there, since I don’t got any money.”

“Makes sense,” Noatak says more to himself than Naruq, who snorts and finishes tying everything down to the sled. Meanwhile, Noatak finishes changing and pulling on his boots. Naruq had lined them with more fur last night, and Noatak can already feel the difference. _I should thank him, again_.

“Ready, kid?”

“Yes,” Noatak says as he puts on his mittens and pulls up his hood around his face.

“Take this rein.”

Obediently, Noatak takes the smaller rein next to Naruq’s larger one, and they both pull the sled through the snow, heading south.

“What is the village like?” Noatak asks as they walk. “Is it large? Is it far?”

Naruq, as usual, patiently (if not curtly) answers Noatak’s questions. “It’s not that large. Nothing compared to the main city. Maybe larger than what you’re used to. They get good business. It ain’t that far. We’ll probably get there by early afternoon.”

Noatak looks up at the sky again. It is summer, he reminds himself, and the sky is just beginning to lighten, which means it is likely early morning.

“It doesn’t make you nervous, walking alone in the middle of the tundra for the entire time?”

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Naruq asks.

“I don’t know,” Noatak sniffs a little. “Maybe some wolves or something. You have all that meat in your sled.”

“As long as I don’t do anything _stupid_ ”—Naruq says this with biting derision—“I’m usually fine, kid. I’ve got gear and I’ve got my experience, but I don’t pick fights. You should learn from that.”

With a small pout, Noatak falls silent. For a while, the walk is quiet. There is something meditative about the experience, however, and Noatak finds he does not mind. Before he realizes it, he is already falling back into old habits. He studies his own heartbeat and finds comfort in the familiar rhythm, and listens to the strong, slower, steadier beats of Naruq beside him—the heartbeat he had first heard when he had arrived. It is firm and resolute—dependable, Noatak decides. It sounds like his father’s heart, which troubles him more than it should. Despite himself, he remembers the days before his father realized Noatak was a waterbender—the days where Noatak would lie across his father’s chest and listen to the comforting thumping of his heart, actually feel the beats reverberate through him. He fell asleep more than once on his father like that. He doesn’t even remember how old he had been, anymore. It must’ve been when he was younger than ten, because when he was ten, his father took him and Tarrlok out to teach them bloodbending.

This means Tarrlok likely has fewer happy memories with their father than Noatak does—if he has any at all. Noatak wonders if that is worse or better. On one hand, in Tarrlok’s mind, his father has and always will be the villain. But on the other, Tarrlok will never have to pine over what could have been.

Noatak does not like this train of thought, and refocuses on Naruq’s heartbeat, which has continued its resolute beat through their silent walk. He is not sure how it is for other people, but for Noatak, the sound of the human heart had always been comforting to him. It is a steadfast, patient sort of rhythm that resounds through the body’s blood. It is an absolute sign of life.

Of course, it is a different story when he starts to bloodbend. Then the heart starts spluttering, like a person being choked, and Noatak can not only hear, but _feel_ through his fingers the mad, skittering lurches it gives, trying to escape his grip.

Once again, the haunting memory of bloodbending Tarrlok creeps into Noatak’s mind. He shudders and tries to untangle himself from the memory.

 _It’s weird_ , he thinks to himself idly. _I’ve always been able to feel hearts and blood, but Tarrlok never seemed to_. Perhaps he had been of the same mentality as Noatak, and assumed it was just _normal_ , but (likely from some deeply selfish part of himself) Noatak also considers the possibility that, perhaps, Tarrlok simply never felt it like Noatak had. He had only showed signs of waterbending after Noatak had, after all.

Although, to be fair, Noatak didn’t even realize he could waterbend until he was ten, even though he had clearly shown signs of the talent since as far back as he could remember. Perhaps Tarrlok is the same.

But, privately, Noatak harbors the small, guilty hope that he is special.

“Let’s take a break, kid,” Naruq says after some time. Noatak murmurs his assent and releases his grip on the reins, and realizes his hands have stiffened. It is to be expected, he figures. He had been pulling along, lost in thought, for perhaps a few hours. He experimentally opens and closes his fingers, begins to feel the blood begin to pump through, again.

Then, with a sudden, curious thought, Noatak begins to bloodbend his own blood, coaxing it to flow a bit quicker through his fingers. Within seconds, he regained full mobility of them, and they no longer ached. Even more so, they were pleasantly warm through his mittens.

 _A practical use_ , Noatak thinks to himself with satisfaction. It is nice to know there are _some_.

There is nothing much to set fire to, so Noatak and Naruq eat dried seal jerky, leaning against the sled. Neither of them are particularly tired, per se (although Noatak is somewhat out of breath; while he, Tarrlok, and his father had trekked quite long distances to hunt, usually the load had been divided by three), but they don’t speak. Noatak thinks it is a combination of saving energy as well as appreciating silence. Around his father, there had always been some sort of… _activity_.

“Finished, kid?” Naruq breaks the silence at last. Noatak finds he welcomes the familiar grate of his voice.

“Yes,” Noatak says as he stands. “Are we far?”

“Nah,” Naruq waves a hand. “Maybe another hour walk.”

Noatak cannot help but feel excited. He’d never been to other villages besides his own before, and had certainly never been to a trading village. He’d never even see a boat, before.

As Naruq had said, it takes only about an hour before they see the village. Noatak feels a spike of anticipation. Besides the obvious fact that he will be seeing a new place, he also realizes he will be taking a ship somewhere—hopefully far from his father. Seeing the village seems to have solidified in his mind that he is, in fact, running and starting a new life, and not, in fact, having a spat of insubordination only to go crawling back to his father and asking for forgiveness.

Although he would never ask for his father’s forgiveness. It is not _his_ forgiveness Noatak wants.

The entrance of the village is secured by a large wall of ice, with a wooden gate covering its entrance. When they step in front of it, Naruq calls up to the top of the wall.

“It’s me!” he shouts. “Here to drop off some game.”

Presently, a head pokes out from above the wall, and Noatak is surprised to see a boy no older than himself look down and wave.

“Hi, Naruq!” he shouts down, his voice sounding thin in the air. “I’ll let you in—but who’s that beside you?”

“Kid’s name is Tarrlok,” says Naruq. “He’s with me.”

That seems to be enough for the boy. He gives a thumbs up before disappearing. Moments later, with a creak and a moan, the gates swing forward. Naruq waves Noatak forward, and he takes the first step into the village.

As Naruq said, it is not a large village, but to Noatak, it is the most activity he’d ever seen. Already, stepping inside, the path is lined with vendors selling a variety of goods, from authentic Water Tribe charms to Fire Nation treats. Noatak feels his eyes widen, and he cannot keep the slight smile from creeping onto his face.

“This is the happiest I’ve seen you, kid,” Naruq snorts—although perhaps he sounds somewhat amused, as well. Noatak turns around and smiles somewhat sheepishly as Naruq waves up to the boy on the wall. With a salute, the boy disappears again, and the gate closes soon after.

“That guy opens and closes the gate all day?”

“Who, Kesuk?” Naruq glances back up at the top of the gate. “He’s probably up there with his older brother, but yeah, that’s his job around here. His family’s been gatekeepers here, apparently.”

 _Sounds boring_ , Noatak thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead he walks further down the path and allows himself to inspect some of the baubles he sees. There are clay pots and works from the Earth Kingdoms, tomes covering everything from cooking to master bending techniques (although, of course, nothing, Noatak notes almost reflexively as he flips through the waterbending book, on bloodbending), and piles of fried foods and cases of live fish.

“Having fun, kid?” Naruq asks from behind him, and Noatak tries to get his smile under control before saying, “Yes, it’s pretty fun, here.”

“Relax, kid,” Naruq snorts at Noatak’s sad attempt at a serious expression. “I was kidding. Lighten up.”

Noatak did not have to be told twice. His mouth breaks out in a wide smile again, and he trails after Naruq as he takes a path away from the other vendors.

“Where are we going?” Noatak asks, and Naruq answers him, “Got to find a place to trade this meat and these charms—and find a reliable crew for you to travel with. I’ve got a friend in one of the inns nearby. She’ll point you in the right direction.”

There is significantly less bustle here—Noatak presumes they are away from the main shopping area—but there is still a number of people weaving through the roads, bags slung across their shoulders and backs. Noatak can tell this is a village used to constant trade. The walls are all made of expensive stone, packed together with mud and years of ice, and the roads look to be salted. Or, at least, Noatak had not slipped on ice, yet.

Soon, they arrive at the docks, where sailors are loading wares on and off their ships. The sea is just beyond them, and even though Noatak does not consider himself a master waterbender by any means, he feels the familiar tug he usually gets when he prepares to bloodbend—except on a far larger scale. On the few occasions his father taught him and Tarrlok waterbending, it had only been on small quantities of thawed ice, and even though he insisted they focus on feeling the push and pull of the water, Noatak found it had been easier through the human body. It is perhaps one of the reasons Noatak, impossibly, feels more of a “bloodbender” than a “waterbender”.

But, standing so close to the ocean, with its waves foaming and rocking the ships on its surface, he could not deny his waterbending roots. It is as if he is being pulled through the tide with it. He can feel the tug of the waves pulling at his heart, and his fingers itch with the need to move.

“This way, kid!” Naruq calls from some distance ahead of him, and Noatak jerks out of his reverie and scans the crowd for a moment, searching for his guide. When he locates him, Noatak jogs over, keeping an eye on Naruq’s broad back while feeling the almost gravitational coaxing of the water. Noatak wonders if this is what feeling drunk is like.

Noatak catches up to Naruq just outside of a fairly large inn, where men and women alike are filtering in and out. Naruq is speaking with a young man, indicating his sled with his hand.

“Keep an eye on it, eh?” Naruq is saying to the man, perhaps three or four years older than Noatak. While he is taller than Naruq, he is still (appropriately, Noatak should think) intimidated by the older man.

“Yes, sir,” he says, taking the reins of the sled. “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

“You be sure you do,” Naruq narrows his eyes, and Noatak can almost hear the man gulp.

Adequately placated, Naruq leads the way towards the entrance of the inn. Noatak finds he enjoys having Naruq in front of him. He parts the crowd like no other, leaving a clear path for Noatak to stay on.

“Is it always this busy?” Noatak asks in slight wonder as he follows Naruq inside.

“Not always,” Naruq shouts a little over his shoulder. The volume had risen as they crossed the threshold. “Trade is always busiest in the summer.”

There is a front desk with people welcoming guests in, but Naruq sidesteps this and goes towards a restaurant to their left. At least, Noatak thinks it’s a restaurant; there are a few tables but they are rather small and very high, and there is a long counter extending the length of the room.

“Ah, you probably don’t have these where you’re from, eh?” Naruq chuckles a little. It is the first time Noatak hears Naruq actually laugh (kind of).

“It’s just a restaurant, isn’t it?” Noatak says somewhat haughtily. He is from a small village, but he’s not stupid; he _does_ read.

“Bar,” Naruq corrects him, and Noatak at last understands why there are so many glasses and bottles for show behind the long counter, and why the menu seems to be covered in nonsense names (“Fire Ferret Blitz”, “Blue Yue”, “Plum Critter”…).

“How do you know what drink has which alcohol?” Noatak asks curiously, and Naruq actually laughs a little at that.

“You’ll learn kid—trust me. Maybe when you find that girl, eh?” Naruq jokes a little before heading towards the lone bartender tending her keep. Noatak hastily follows.

“Etka,” Naruq greets the woman, who Noatak is surprised to see is quite slender and more or less harmless looking, although upon critical expression, Noatak can see the tight but supple muscles in her arms.

“Naruq,” Etka greets the older man, her slight nod making her long hair tumble down her shoulders. It is a strange style. Unlike most other Water Tribe women, her hair is mostly undone and left wild around her head. There is nothing but a single, thick braid that hangs next to her right cheek, and Noatak can see no practical use for it there. It is halfway across the side of her head, so it is not even keeping the bangs out of her face. But he does notice the tasteful deep blue and snow white ornamentation she has worked into the braid.

Etka must notice Noatak’s look, because she glances down at him and gives him a smirk. “Like what you see?” she asks, her voice smooth and almost magnetizingly confident. “I can give you one too, if you’d like. We’ll match.”

Noatak’s cheeks flush, and he ducks his head and avoids looking at Etka, who laughs—except her laugh is more like a low, private chuckle, as if she is enjoying a secret joke only she can understand.

“Easy, Etka,” Naruq says, and Noatak can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Kid’s only fifteen.”

“ _Really_?” Etka drawls out. “Well, that’s alright—I don’t mind younger ones.” She leans across the bar and languidly props her chin on a hand. Noatak cannot help but think the way her black hair falls from her shoulders looks like water.

“Where’s Onartok?” Naruq draws back Etka’s attention, and she allows Noatak some respite as she turns to Naruq.

“He’s readying the ship,” Etka tells him, her voice still low and smooth but considerably less alluring. “Why, do you need him?”

“This one here is looking for passage.” Naruq reaches over to place a single hand on Noatak’s head. The gesture is meant to be unthreatening, and somewhere, Noatak realizes this, but before his mind can catch up, his body is already flinching away from Naruq’s touch. The movement is almost more like a violent jerk away, to be honest, and the two adults notice. Naruq and Etka pause to look at Noatak curiously, and, if possible, Noatak blushes even further.

“Sorry,” Noatak mutters. Naruq’s expression is unreadable as he studies Noatak before he moves his hand to Noatak’s shoulder. He gives it a bracing squeeze as he returns to his conversation with Etka as if nothing had transpired.

“He’s traveling, and needs a ship ride.”

“Why Onartok specifically?” Etka asks, her voice and body language as relaxed as ever, mirroring Naruq’s casualness flawlessly. 

“I know him,” Naruq says simply. “Where’s he going this time?”

“The capitol,” Etka answers. “But he won’t just give passage for free, even if it’s you that’s asking, Naruq.”

“I know,” Naruq says. “But this one can waterbend. Eh, kid?”

Noatak tentatively raises his head to see Naruq giving him a steady gaze and Etka watching him with one brow arched.

“Um,” Noatak begins to say before losing his voice. He clears his throat before saying with a bit more vigor, “Yes, I’m a waterbender. I don’t know what Onartok needs, but if he lets me on his ship, I’ll do what I can.” He straightens a little and says firmly, “I won’t be a burden. I wasn’t planning on hitching a ride without doing something for it.”

Etka stares at Noatak for so long he begins to feel self-conscious. But just when he thinks he perhaps said something wrong, she turns her head to Naruq and says simply, “This one’s a good one. Where’d you pick him up?”

“In a blizzard.”

Etka straightens and rolls her shoulders a little. “I’ll call Onartok. I’m sure once he knows the kid’s a waterbender and you’re asking him a favor, he’ll do it. What should I call you, by the way?”

“Tarrlok.” Noatak almost forgets he is using an alias, but he does not slip up on the name. Etka nods and asks, “You don’t mind you’re going to the capitol, do you?”

“No,” Noatak shakes his head. At this, Etka gives an almost ferocious grin.

“No, I guess you aren’t,” Etka chuckles. “It’s supposed to be waterbender heaven, right?”

Noatak had not even thought about this—he had just been happy he could put more distance between himself and his father. But Etka is right; the Northern Water Tribe is a legendary conglomeration of waterbenders of all disciplines. While the Southern Water Tribe is, if Noatak has heard right, slowly returning to laudable splendor since the Hundred Year War, the Northern Water Tribe remains the pinnacle of waterbending ingenuity. Master Katara, the wife of the Avatar, is well known for visiting the capitol once every couple of years to teach her knowledge that she had learned over the years.

 _Although_ , Noatak thinks to himself sullenly, _you won’t find any masters for bloodbending there_. The only bloodbending master Noatak knows is his father, and he couldn’t even _bend_ anymore—courtesy of the Avatar.

But Noatak does not voice any of this to Etka or Naruq. Instead he paints on a wide smile and says, “Yeah, I’ve never been to a big city before, and I think it’d be fun to see all the waterbending.” The words sound false and empty to him, but Etka seems satisfied enough with this reply.

“I’ll get Onartok,” Etka says. “The phone’s in the back. I’ll call him.”

“You guys have phones?” Noatak cannot help but ask, amazed. Etka laughs and smirks.

“Yes, we do,” she says smugly. “They were just installed a couple of months ago. Let me tell you—it’s amazing. I mean, Spirits, they were expensive, but they’re pretty incredible. But, hold on. I’ll get ahold of Onartok for you.” With this, Etka turns away and disappears into a door behind her, leaving Naruq and Noatak at the bar.

Now that they are alone, Naruq says outright, “Sorry about spooking you earlier, kid. Wasn’t what I meant.”

Naruq meant well, but Noatak wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. Now he’s blushing all over again. He says so quickly he almost trips over the words, “Oh, no, I know. I was just being stupid. Don’t worry about it, Naruq. Thank you.”

Naruq blinks once, slowly, at Noatak, his expression looking perhaps more serious than it had been since meeting him. Then, he says carefully, “Look, kid, I know you said your business was your business, but if you—”

The door behind the bar opens again, and Noatak asks Etka, “Did you find him?” He turns his head to avoid Naruq’s gaze, although he’s sure he’s fairly casual about it. Still, Etka pauses as she opens her mouth to speak and glances between Noatak and Naruq.

“Did I just interrupt something?” she asks, brow raised again.

“No,” Naruq answers for them. “Good news?”

“Good news,” Etka agrees. “Onartok is going to finish loading up the ship this evening, so you can head out with him tomorrow morning, Tarrlok.”

“Great!” Noatak says, and this time his exclamation is genuine. He did not think he would be able to leave so soon. “That’s great. What time tomorrow?”

“Early,” Etka supplies, and Noatak makes a face. She laughs a little and says, “He can wake you up, himself. We have a spare room in the back, if you want to spend the night here.”

“Oh,” Noatak blinks before saying awkwardly, “You live together?”

Etka snorts and hides her mouth behind her hand for a moment before saying, “Yeah, we do, but don’t worry kid—Onartok is my brother.” And when Noatak visibly relaxes, Etka continues, “But even if we weren’t what did you think we’d do? Have insane sex in the room next door while you’re over? No one’s into that except for weirdos, Tarrlok.”

Her bluntness makes Noatak flush— _again_. For Spirits’ sake, he’s almost an adult! He wills himself to cool down as he glares at the floor, and Naruq and Etka laugh.

“Where will you be staying, Naruq?” Noatak asks, determinedly avoiding looking at Etka.

At this, Naruq’s smile fades a little. “Ah, kid, I ain’t staying. I’m just here to drop you off.”

“Oh.” Noatak is not sure what to say to this, but he wonders why he didn’t consider this before. Of course, once Naruq makes certain of Noatak’s safe passage, there is little for him to do anymore. There is no reason for him to stay any longer.

“Yeah, of course,” Noatak shakes himself and adds on. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Naruq shrugs it off.

“Onartok won’t be back until later tonight,” Etka points out. “Until then, there’s not really anything for you to do, Tarrlok. You can help Naruq trade away all his jerky or whatever. I don’t think his back can handle the stress anymore.” Her expression is so flat and her tone so matter-of-fact it takes a moment to realize she is joking.

“You’re a riot,” Naruq smiles and Noatak stifles a laugh. “That’s a good idea, though. Kid, I could use a hand—if you’re up to it.”

“That sounds good,” Noatak says. “I wanted to see the rest of the place, anyway.”

“Bully him into getting you something,” Etka nods agreeably. “When’s your birthday, Tarrlok?”

“Um—spring. The sixteenth day of the sixth month.”

“See, Naruq?” Etka shakes her head morosely. “You missed his birthday. Who does that?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Naruq holds up his hands and straightens. “Better set it right. C’mon kid, I’ll get you a birthday present.”

“Oh—thanks?” Noatak isn’t sure if Naruq is serious. Regardless, he rushes to follow Naruq out of the inn, throwing up a hand to Etka as they exit.

“Thank you!” Noatak calls back to her. “See you later!”

Coolly, Etka raises a single, lazy hand, before returning to her bar, looking just the same as they had left her. From this distance, Noatak notices the beads in her braid make it look as if water is falling down her hair.

“Kid!” Naruq shouts for his attention, and Noatak turns and locates the older man just as he is giving the young man from earlier a small bag of meat for his troubles.

“Let’s go,” Naruq says, and Noatak picks up a rein and follows Naruq’s lead into the town.


	5. 1.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember kids: nothing good ever happens after 2 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. ok so technically since Noatak isn't 16 yet this is basically underage drinking which is like illegal and all that jazz so if that kind of thing bothers you, skip like the last half of this chapter, I suppose.   
> 2\. also it's been a full month since I updated last (more than a month, I believe), so sorry about that!! But I am here ... I have arrived ... 
> 
> Perhaps 2 updates a month was overly ambitious. But I will try for at least once a month. I hope that's not too inconvenient for you all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking around!!

Noatak has never felt more like a child than he does while in the town. A rare grin creeps up along his face against his will—and, indeed, without his realization. He skips from stand to stand, entertaining each merchant with a teasing glance and lingering look at their wares before scampering to the next one. Behind him, Naruq stops occasionally at some stands to show his wares and trade for a few useful things—new tools, spices, vegetables, the like—that Noatak had noticed the first time he had arrived at his home. By the time Noatak had rushed to the end of the street and back, Naruq has more or less emptied his sled of his meats and most of his trinkets he had made save for a few. They were the ones Noatak had noted Tarrlok would like, if he saw them.

“Alright, kid,” Naruq says briskly. “What do you want? I can probably trade these for almost anything pretty small, so just take your pick.” He holds up the figurines.

“Oh,” Noatak blinks. “You were serious.” It is not a question.

“Yeah, I was serious kid,” Naruq smiles a little.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to get me anything. You’ve done enough for me already.”

“Tarrlok, kid, just let someone do something nice for you,” Naruq nearly rolls his eyes. “You’ve got a problem with this.”

Noatak flushes and glances around the nearby vendors to try and hide it, even though he can tell Naruq spotted his embarrassment. However, as is typical for Naruq, he doesn’t comment on it, just patiently waits for Noatak to make his decision.

There are scads of useful things that Noatak can ask for: knives, belts, bags, gloves, scarves. He even sees scrolls and books on waterbending—expensive texts, he knew, although Naruq comments casually that those would be very nice choices. But over and over again, Noatak finds himself glancing at the penguin and polar bear dog trinkets hanging on Naruq’s belt. At last, Naruq really does roll his eyes and says, “Kid, how about you take these off my hands? If you change your mind, you can trade for something yourself, later.”

“Really?” Noatak’s face brightens almost comically. “That’s great. Thank you.” He accepts Naruq’s offering reverently.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

By now the sun has gone down somewhat, and Naruq glances at the sky with a slight frown.

“You’ll have to get going soon, I guess,” Noatak comments, trying to keep the disappointment from his tone. It is understandable, and more than that, he knew it was coming. Naruq has no reason to stay any longer. He has done his job and what he has promised. Has done more than what was likely necessary.

It dawns on Noatak that he has not really done anything to properly thank Naruq for saving his life and then some. He considers the polar bear dog carving in his hand with a small crease in his brow. Naruq has done much for Noatak, and Noatak very little for Naruq.

“Actually, I was thinking it was getting kind of late for me to walk back,” Naruq says thoughtfully. “Figure it’ll be too dark for me by the time I leave. Maybe I’ll have to stick around for the evening.”

Noatak feels his heart beat quicken slightly. “Oh.” He pauses. “Yeah, I guess that would be best. For … safety reasons.”

Naruq shoots Noatak an amused smile. “Yeah, kid. Safety reasons.” He waves the boy over. “We should head back to the inn and make sure they have a space. Might be able to get Etka to give me a space in the back with you.”

“Maybe,” Noatak agrees, following Naruq back to the inn.

It is the evening now, and the bar is considerably more busy than it had been, filled with roaring men and laughing women. Some people are swaying, others are dancing, and others are falling asleep right at their tables. Noatak hesitates at the entrance, unsure of what to make of this. He is unused to this amount of activity and people. He feels himself shrink as he walks through the entrance of the inn.

“Tarrlok?” Naruq calls behind him when he realizes Noatak is not following. He strides back to Noatak with a vague frown on his face. “Are you alright, kid?”

Noatak nods and swallows. This is not so bad. It’s like all the birthday parties he had attended, or the ceremonies he was forced to go to, when he was younger—except, with more adults. Usually, Tarrlok would be the one that would be taking the lead in these situations, despite his age. He could charm anyone with his grin and his words while Noatak stayed in the back and smiled and nodded politely. Social situations was one of the few things Noatak did not begrudge Tarrlok for exceeding him in—mostly. Except for the small fact that everyone adored Tarrlok but didn’t seem to know Noatak’s name in contrast.

Tarrlok never seemed to notice though, and Noatak was never vindictive enough to tell him. But there was always a part of Noatak that resented Tarrlok for his natural charisma, his warmth, while Noatak stood near the back and tried to shake the anxiety he felt.

Even though Tarrlok never deserved Noatak’s bitterness. Tarrlok was bright and cheerful, and it was during social situations, when they could melt away from their father, that he could forget for a little while. The fact that Noatak could hold that against his baby brother—what kind of sibling was he?

“Kid,” Naruq pulls him back to the present. “C’mon. No one’s going to hurt you.”

 _That’s not the problem_ , Noatak thinks to himself, but he nods anyway and trails behind Naruq.

Moving through the crowd, admittedly, is quite easy; Naruq parts the crowd with his broad shoulders, and Noatak simply stays directly behind him and walks in the small empty space he provides before it is swallowed up again by the people. He seems to know a few people here. Every once in a while, he raises a hand and shouts a greeting, or else turns his head when his name is called out in turn. Noatak supposes this is reasonable. Naruq, after all, comes here often for trade, and he is, as far as Noatak can tell, a generally personable individual. Of course he would know people here.

Yet, this does not dull his mounting feeling of isolation. _That’s stupid_ , he tells himself. _You’ve only known him for three days. Of course he knows other people. Why are you so upset?_

 _Stupid_ , he thinks again as they approach the bar. Etka is there, evidently not having moved at all while they were out. Her expression is cool and poised, as usual, her attitude languid and her demeanor relaxed. She is entertaining a pair of men who are asking for their cups refilled. They are not Water Tribe; their skin is too light and their hair is too dusty brown and scruffy. Traders from the Earth Kingdom, maybe. Their faces are becoming increasingly reddened—from the alcohol, Noatak guesses.

“Naruq,” Etka greets them as they approach, her polite smile growing marginally wider and genuine. Her entire attitude warms—particularly when she spots Noatak floating behind the larger man.

“And Tarrlok, too,” Etka says with a broad smile. “Lucky me.”

“Hello,” Noatak has to practically shout.

“Did Naruq get you something nice?”

Instead of hoarsening his voice, Noatak pulls out the trinkets from his pocket and presents them to her. She takes them and inspects them critically.

“Naruq, I know no one in my city would be caught dead selling such low quality toys,” she smirks at him, and he snorts.

“ _I_ made them.”

“Well, that explains it, doesn’t it?”

“They’re not so bad,” Noatak interjects sullenly. He quite likes them. He does not like Etka bashing them.

“I know, Tarrlok. I was just having some fun.” She hands the charms back to him and smiles. “They’re very nice.” Then she turns back to Naruq. “What are you still doing here? Just dropping Tarrlok off? It’s getting fairly late to walk back.”

“Yeah, I was hoping you had some room in the back for me, or if there’s a spare room in the inn.”

“I don’t know if there’s room in the inn,” frowns Etka. “As you can see, we’re very busy. You’ll have to ask Anana.” Then she leans on one leg and tilts her head thoughtfully. “But, yes, we do have room in the back for you and Tarrlok. Since he takes up the space of about half a man.” She shoots Noatak a sharp smile to show she is joking. “Onartok won’t mind having you over for the night as well as Tarrlok.”

“Then, I’d like to stay over.”

“That’s fine,” Etka inclines her head in the slightest and laziest of nods. Then she reaches for a cup. “Want something? On me.”

“Yeah, thanks—a whale tail island.”

“Tarrlok?”

Noatak jumps a little and glances at the menu. “Oh, uh—?”

“You trying to get the kid drunk, Etka?”

“Of course,” she smiles, showing all her teeth. “It’s fun that way.” She turns her back for a moment to gather alcohol and other things—juices, Noatak thinks—and begins mixing them.

“Aren’t you only thirteen, kid?”

“Fifteen,” Noatak corrects somewhat indignantly before he spots the spark of amusement in Naruq’s eye.

“That’s close enough,” Etka laughs over her shoulder. “I was sneaking drinks from my parents’ cupboard three years younger than that.” She slid Naruq’s drink over to him.

“That’s because _you’re_ an alcoholic mess,” Naruq said around the rim of his cup.

“We’ll start you with something easy, Tarrlok,” says Etka. “Unless you’ve had alcohol before?”

Noatak shakes his head in the negative. There was never any alcohol in their home—which, in retrospect, Noatak thanks. He could not imagine what life would’ve been like if his father was drunk as well as bent on revenge.

“A blue Yue,” Etka decides then, reaching under the bar and pulling out a delicate looking glass, its neck thin and glazed deep ocean blue.

The drink Etka gives Noatak is blue as well, matching the neck exactly.

“Here, kid,” Naruq shifts aside a couple of loitering patrons (who move quite amicably when they see it is Naruq) and presents a stool. Noatak clambers up and grasps the neck of the glass tentatively, nervous he will break it.

“So, the best way to drink this is to drink it all in one go—but if you can’t, chugging it is—”

“Etka, shut up,” Naruq rolls his eyes. Etka blinks innocently, her straight face not shifting for a moment. Noatak had almost fallen for it.

“Just take a couple of sips, Tarrlok,” Naruq suggests. “Don’t drink too much at a time.”

With a nervous crease in his forehead, Noatak brings the glass to his lips and takes his first sip. He had never had alcohol before, true, but there had been enough of it at village celebrations, and the adults would leave their cups around at times. Noatak had smelled them before, and they always smelled pungent and sharp—something that would taste disgusting, basically. He is prepared for the worst.

To his pleasant surprise, his drink tastes crisp and almost sweet—like spring water, maybe, that is slightly flavored with fruit. If there is alcohol, he cannot taste it. He sets the glass down and licks his lips a little.

“See?” Etka says. “I’m a genius.”

“How is it?” Naruq ignores her.

“It’s…pretty good,” Noatak answers. He lifts the glass again, intending to drink more.

“Hold on, kid,” Naruq says in warning, putting a hand on Noatak’s arm. “Those kinds of drinks taste good because it’s meant to let you drink a lot of it without tasting the alcohol. Gets you messed up faster because you drink a lot fast. Take your time.”

“Oh,” Noatak blinks at the innocent looking blue drink in front of him. “What kind of alcohol is in this?”

“It’s sweetened rice wine,” Etka tells him. “They use grapes to add sweetness, but you add more juice to make the drink sweeter.”

“Is there a lot in it?”

“Quite a bit,” Etka smiles mischievously.

Noatak glances at the glass again before taking another small sip. It tastes nothing more than juice. But already, Noatak is sure he can feel a vague warmth crawling up his chest and up his neck, heating his cheeks. He takes a bracing breath.

“There it is,” Etka laughs as she leans forward on the bar top. “Feeling it, are you?”

Noatak nods but doesn’t trust himself to speak. Even his ears are tingling. Can two sips of this drink really do so much?

“Etka, one more,” Naruq orders in the meanwhile, handing her back his cup, now drained.

“Coming right up,” Etka promises, taking the cup and turning again.

“You alright, kid?” Naruq asks as Noatak takes one more, small sip. The taste is almost addicting, but Noatak attempts to keep Naruq’s warning in mind. He has seen some sensational situations where village men had gotten too drunk and had gotten into all sorts of trouble. He has no desire to be one of those men.

“Relax, kid,” Naruq pats Noatak’s shoulders.

“Naruq!” a voice booms from behind, and Noatak and the man in question turn to see a hulking Water Tribe man approaching. His hair is decorated with feathers and beads and has three braids hanging on the side of his face, the rest falling just at his shoulders. His nose is slightly crooked—perhaps broken one too many times—his shoulders and chest are broader than Naruq’s, and on his right arm are twisting tattoos of traditional Water Tribe design, including a prominent mark of the brave curling around the arc of his shoulder.

“Onartak!” Naruq returns the loud call with one of his own, breaking into excited laughter. He embraces his friend and gives him a few slaps on the back.

“How are you?” Naruq asks, a grin on his face, and Onartak replies, “Better than you. What’s with this flab?” Onartak gives a playful punch at Naruq’s stomach. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me.”

“Thought it was time I give you a fighting chance,” Naruq snorts, and Onartak chuckles.

“Nah, you’re just getting old, old man.”

“If I’m old, then you’re on your death bed,” Naruq replies. “Do us all a favor and keel over already.” For effect, Naruq clutches his own chest and bends over, as if in pain.

“Yeah, and I’ll drag you with me,” Onartak says, slapping Naruq on the back. “Heard you brought a waterbending kid. Is this all I’m good for? Pack mule for your strays?”

“Ah, that’s right,” Naruq says, straightening and sweeping a hand in Noatak’s direction. “Onartak, this is the kid. Tarrlok, this is Onartak.”

“Hello,” Noatak greets the man. He places the glass on the bar and puts a fist against the palm of his other hand before bowing a little.

“No need for that!” Onartak hoots. “We’re all men here. Nice to meet you, Tarrlok. A friend of Naruq’s is a friend of mine.” He grasps Noatak’s forearm and slaps another hand on his shoulder, sending a genuine vibration through Noatak’s bones. Or maybe he just feels it more because of his drink. Naruq laughs at Noatak’s expression, and Onartak does as well (or, at least, he laughs more). After a moment, Noatak hears himself chuckling along.

“What business do you have in the capitol, Tarrlok?” Onartak asks amicably, and Noatak answers with ease, “Just moving through. Maybe find a waterbending master that will teach me.”

“A master, huh?” Naruq raises an eyebrow before thanking Etka. She has returned with his whale tail island. “Interested in being a master bender, kid?”

“It’d be nice.”

“That’d be cool,” Etka adds. “I can say I know a master waterbender.”

“He’s not a master,” Naruq points out, and Noatak replies smartly, “Not yet.”

This sends a chorus of “Oho!”s and “Okay, kid”s through their small crowd, and Noatak feels himself smiling, feeling oddly sociable. _The alcohol_ , he thinks to himself vaguely. He feels a dull spike of panic, however; what if he slips up, says something about he is, practically, a master bloodbender, and the son of the mafia boss Yakone? _Careful_ , he says, but the thought is hard to grasp. Noatak reaches back and grasps his drink and nurses it absentmindedly.

The evening wears on from there, with the bar actually increasing in activity as the hours pass by, not waning. This takes Noatak by surprise, who becomes more and more lethargic and time goes on. In fact, he ends up putting his glass on the bar out of fear it will slip through his fingers. However, he does not move at all, just stays on his stool and watches the adults banter, occasionally adding something in. To his satisfaction, they laugh appropriately, and apparently genuinely. He feels uncharacteristically giddy, and he is laughing along with everyone much more than is typical, but he finds he does not mind the feeling, although at one point in the evening he finds himself sorely wishing Tarrlok is here with him. As bright as the room already is, Tarrlok would’ve made it that much brighter.

At some point in the night, Naruq is lifting Noatak by the armpits and hefting him to a room behind the bar.

“Alright kid,” he rumbles into Noatak’s ear. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Noatak hiccups and shakes his head. “No, I want to stay out there with everyone.”

“If you get ahold of yourself, then I’ll let you,” Naruq says as he maneuvers the storage rooms and brings them to a comfortably decorated sitting room, and a small bedroom beyond that. Noatak is too dazed to really take in his surroundings.

“I’m fine,” Noatak says stubbornly as Naruq places him atop a bed. He kneels so he can look at Noatak in the eye.

Noatak feels a harsh pang in his head. He grimaces, puts a hand against his cheek and is surprised to find it wet.

“Did I cry?” Noatak exclaims, suddenly feeling panicked. _In front of everyone?_

“Yeah, kid,” Naruq replies flatly. “You did.”

Noatak stares at Naruq, vaguely horrified. He cried in front of _everyone_ in the bar? What kind of man does that?

“Don’t worry about it,” Naruq seems to answer his thoughts.

“What did I say?” Noatak presses. “What was I saying before I started crying? What was everyone else saying?”

“Tomorrow.” Naruq rises from his crouching position on the floor, intending to leave. “You don’t feel like you’re going to throw up, do you?”

“What? No. Naruq, wait, what did I _say_?”

Naruq hesitates at the door, slightly ajar, the faint light and the uproar from the bar spilling into the room.

“Please,” Noatak adds, his voice pitching a little in desperation. This was _important_. If he said anything about bloodbending—about Yakone—he may very well have to leave this city tonight, by himself, face the world alone once again…

“Nothing, kid,” Naruq sighs. “Just said you miss your brother.”

“My brother.” Noatak feels himself relax. That is not so bad. That could mean a whole flurry of things to a bunch of strangers.

“Yeah, your brother,” Naruq hesitates for a moment, as if contemplating saying what he’s about to say. “Your brother, Tarrlok. Right?”

Noatak feels his heart lurch before freezing. His mouth goes dry. He genuinely does not know what to say.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Naruq sighs again. “Shouldn’t have said anything. Go to sleep.”

The door closes, leaving Noatak in darkness. 


	6. 1.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( Long chapter mostly about nothing )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I was like "You know, it's nanowrimo, why not try and write 50K for TVITS?" Then after like 2 days and 300 words written, I was like "Maybe not."

“Noatak,” Onartak is the one that wakes him up the next morning. Noatak stirs and immediately shrinks underneath his sheets as his still-sleepy mind catches up with his ears. Onartak had called him “Noatak”, not “Tarrlok”, which meant last night was not some horrible nightmare. His eyes focus on Onartak’s broad face warily. It is not unkind, however. Actually, it looks vaguely amused. He is holding a glass of something, which he places on the bedside table next to Noatak.

“Rough night?” Onartak asks innocently, his brow arching.

“Uh,” Noatak croaks out as last when he realizes he’s meant to respond. _Spirits_ , his voice sounds absolutely terrible. “Kind of. Had a couple of drinks with some friends.”

“More like only one,” Onartak laughs a little. “Didn’t realize it was possible to be such a lightweight.”

At this, Noatak bristles a little. “I’m not a _lightweight_. It was just my first time drinking, that’s all…”

Onartak laughs harder at Noatak’s reaction. “Alright, alright, don’t take it so hard, kid.” He straightens and says, “We’re planning on heading out in about an hour, so get ready and get your shit together and all that. Hope you’re prepared to show me some waterbending tricks. And, also, if you’re feeling like shit, which Naruq said you might, I strongly recommend drinking some of that.” Onartak nods his chin towards the glass on the table before shooting Noatak a friendly grin and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

That is all. No mention of the fact that Noatak cried in front of everyone last night, or how he lied about his entire identity. Just regular Onartak, treating Noatak no different from how he had when they met yesterday. Noatak stares at the closed door of the bedroom before throwing off the sheets and rising at last.

And immediately regretting it. With an involuntary hiss, he puts a hand to his temple and furrowed his brow as a harsh pang resonated through his head. It takes a few moments, but the sudden throbs and the vertigo wear off, however, and Noatak immediately reaches for the glass of liquid on the table and takes a large gulp—before gagging. It tastes bitter— _disgusting_ —but after a second of hesitation, he steels himself and downs the entire thing in three swallows. The best way to take gross medicine is _fast as possible_ , as his mother used to say. And if it is for the sake of getting rid of this _pounding_ headache, Noatak would gladly drink more.

Tarrlok would probably take small sips of this and make faces each time, as if surprised with every new mouthful that the taste has not improved. It had always been like that. Noatak suffered through things as quick as possible. Tarrlok suffered through things slowly and hesitantly. _Just get it over with_ , Noatak would whisper to Tarrlok each night during their hunting trips. _Just get it over with and we’ll be home soon. It’ll be fine, don’t think about it too much. Just do it._

And still, _still_ , Tarrlok would hesitate. His hands would shudder as he went to bloodbend the animals in the tundra. His throat would gulp as he felt the first tremors of resistance resonate from the wolves to his fingers. His eyes would tear up with every whine from them he heard.

Noatak was not like that. Noatak would never do that. He would close his eyes, gather himself, hear their heartbeats, open his eyes, and they would be kneeling at his feet, their spines straining against their skin, tails between their legs, their chests heaving.

He never spared a moment to feel guilty. He could not afford to. He could not afford to let the sickness spread past his gut, or the throbbing in his heart to infect the rest of his chest. All he knew was his father was watching, and Tarrlok was there, and he had to protect Tarrlok. If that meant being the genius, the _prodigy_ , he would do it.

(Besides, he had never been the prodigy of anything else, before.)

Noatak does not feel as bad anymore, so he can only assume the medicine or whatever is working. He slides off the bed and runs his hands through his hair and scowls as his fingers roughly snap through the burrs there. Regardless, he pulls his hair into a ponytail before looking around the room.

There is a chest of drawers and a closet, which he inspects and finds there are some clothes that look far too large for him, along with some towels and bedding and pillowcases. He expects about the same in the chest of drawers, but explores it anyway to put his curiosity at rest and is surprised to see all of the drawers are empty save for one near the middle, where a modest pile of clothes lie with a note on top: _Some clothes we had lying around. Hopefully some are your size? Let someone know if not. Wuv you, Etka._

 _Wuv you_ , Noatak reread the last line before snorting. Is this woman really fully grown? But the smile spreads across his face regardless.

There is also a small bathroom attached to the room, and it has a shower. This is almost exciting for Noatak. In his village, only the chief’s house had a fully working shower, and even then, it was not very efficient; it was expensive, as the plumbing it required was irritating to install underneath the frost of the north pole, and it took much more energy to run it than it did to just use the public baths and steam huts or use waterbending to clean oneself. These were the things most people did. Noatak and Tarrlok would scrub and rinse each other, even, in their bathroom when they were younger, and entertain themselves by making funny shapes with water when they were able.

Onartak _did_ say they are leaving in an hour…Perhaps Noatak could risk a very fast shower. Hesitantly, he inspects the shiny metal knobs beneath the showerhead before shrugging and twisting it. With a slight splutter, water pours from the showerhead in a pleasantly pressured stream, and Noatak grins a little. He twists a little more, and before long, the water is hot, and the bathroom is steaming.

Noatak strips out of his clothes and hesitates, wondering where he should put them. He folds them and places them on top of the sink counter before undoing the ponytail he had just done and stepping into the shower. It is a novel experience—he has never bathed where he is not pouring the water himself. But the water is coming automatically, leaving Noatak to stand under it and absorb the warmth undoing the aches in his muscles. The heat is relaxing, and he allows himself to close his eyes and enjoy it for a moment.

Then he remembers there will be people waiting for him, and he hastens to finish. He spots some bottles of soap on the floor of the shower, and he grasps a random one before reading the label: “body wash”. Frowning, he sets that one down and grabs another. “Conditioner”. He has never used conditioner in his life. Didn’t only rich women use it for their hair?

Although, frankly, he has never used soap from bottles, either. Usually, he used soap from animal fat, although his village did import some expensive soaps and shampoos from other towns. But, those were usually expensive. His family never had much use for them.

Still, Noatak is not completely ignorant; he finds the bottle labeled “shampoo” and squeezes a generous amount into his hand and begins rubbing it into his hair. He finds he has used too much, however. Soap suds are falling into his eyes and covering his shoulders, and he rinses out the soap quickly and washes out his eyes. He continues to wash his face and body underneath the warm downpour of water before glancing at the bottle of conditioner, left untouched.

 _Whatever,_ Noatak thinks to himself—when will he actually be in another shower, again?—before squeezing out a little and running it through his hair. It leaves it slippery and smooth as he exits the shower. It is honestly the most luxurious he has ever felt before.

Some digging around in the cupboard underneath the sink unearths multiple new toothbrushes and some toothpaste, which Noatak helps himself to. After, he goes back into the room and grabs one of the towels he had found in the closet and dries himself off, although he waterbends the moisture from his hair. Honestly, he doesn’t need a towel for his body, either, but they looked very soft when he saw them earlier, and he was right; they feel very comfortable. He figures he is allowed his small indulgences while he is on the run.

Luckily, some of the clothes Etka had left in the drawer fit quite well. They are simple, straightforward Water Tribe style, with the shirt being pale blue, loose, and sleeveless, the leggings black, and the anorak and pants deep blue, with white fur trim on the ends. She even left socks, which he slips on. They are warm and comfortable—almost as good as the ones his mother makes.

Noatak dismisses the thoughts of his mother as he continues to put on his boots. He then returns to the bathroom and picks up his clothes. Remembering Naruq’s gift, Noatak checks the pockets of the pants and finds the charms still there. Relieved, he puts them in the pocket of the pants he is currently wearing before tying up his hair and exiting the bedroom.

The room outside of it seems to be a living room, with a sofa and a couple of armchairs around a table and what looks to be a radio. The walls are made of wood, and pictures hang from them, or else interesting trinkets and items Onartak and Etka had no doubt collected over their years of trading. In the middle of the room, there are a couple of bags, and as Noatak hesitates, wonder where he should go next, Naruq appears from somewhere else, a smaller backpack in his hand.

“Noatak,” he greets the young man, and Noatak starts a little at being addressed by his real name before raising a hand somewhat sheepishly.

“Good morning,” he says. “Um…thanks for last night. Sorry about everything.”

Both of them know his apology is not just for getting drunk and making Naruq carry Noatak to his bedroom. Naruq only shrugs, however, and replies, “Don’t worry about it, kid”—like he always does. Except, he genuinely seems to mean it (like he has every other time), and Noatak visibly relaxes. It is ridiculous; he has barely known Naruq for all of four or five days, and the idea that he dislikes Noatak bothers him. Why should Noatak care? He is a vagabond now, a wanderer. He will never stay in the same place again—or else, will never, _can_ never, live as Noatak of the Northern Water Tribe again.

The thought hurts more than he expects, which is stupid. What did he expect? But he supposes he had never given it much consideration before.

“This is for you,” Naruq hands Noatak the bag. “Figured you’d need your own. Kind of small, but it’s sturdy.”

“Thank you,” Noatak says genuinely as he takes the bag. He puts his folded clothes into it and, after a moment of consideration, takes the charms from his pocket and ties them to the zipper of one of the pockets of the backpack. He slings it onto his back after that.

“So,” Noatak asks somewhat awkwardly, “are you leaving soon? You said you couldn’t stay, right?”

“Yeah,” Naruq agrees. “Probably going to leave as soon as I see you and Onartok off.”

There is a moment of silence between them, and Noatak shuffles a little, unsure of what to say.

“So,” Naruq begins a conversation the same way Noatak had, “Tarrlok, huh?”

“Uh,” Noatak blinks. He should have, of course, seen this coming. “Yeah. He’s my little brother.”

Naruq nods. “Yeah, you said as much last night.” He pauses, as if considering whether or not he should continue down this road, before abandoning tact and asking, “He have anything to do with you running around in a blizzard by yourself?” Naruq hesitates again before adding, “Is he okay?”

Noatak’s gaze shifts to the floor. “He, um, doesn’t have anything to do with me being in the blizzard.” _Not directly, at least_. “And he’s…he’s…”

What is he supposed to say? That Tarrlok is fine? He’s not _fine_ , he hasn’t been fine since he was _seven_. And he certainly cannot be fine now. But he cannot say that to Naruq—or rather, he cannot say it _aloud_ , because Noatak is afraid he might start crying or something again. But he cannot bring himself to lie either. As Naruq had said so when they first met, it is in bad taste to lie to the individual who saved your life.

Naruq does not need an answer, however, and he says, “Forget I asked anything kid.” Then he crouches so he can look into Noatak’s downcast eyes. “But, listen, I know I said your business is your business, but the fact is, you’re still a kid. If you need help—anything—just let me know. I’m not one to judge.”

 _You say that_ , Noatak thinks to himself numbly, _but what would you say if you_ knew _?_ Bloodbending is regarded as the ultimate taboo of waterbending, and is it any wonder? Despite how good he is at it, how powerful and accomplished and enlightened he feels when he does it, or when he listens to the beating hearts of those around him, he knows why it is considered _unseemly_. To reach into someone’s body and _yank_ them around like a doll—like a _thing_ , some incidental toy that one could tear apart and dissect as they saw fit—it must be terrifying.

Tarrlok certainly looked terrified, when Noatak bloodbent him.

But Noatak just nods and says, “Thanks, Naruq.” He does not raise his gaze to meet Naruq’s, and the older man continues to look up at Noatak, perhaps waiting for him to say more, before giving a minute sigh and rising.

“Sure thing, kid,” he says. “Anything.” Then he waves him over to bags in the room. “Help me move these, but be careful with them—they have goods Onartak is going to trade for at the capital.”

Noatak wordlessly nods and takes one of the bags. Naruq takes the remaining two easily. Noatak follows the man through the doors of the living room and out into the now empty bar—save for a few tenants who quietly snored on some tables scattered around in the back.

“Noatak, my love,” Etka greets them as they appear behind her.

“Yeah, good to see you too, Etka.”

“Oh, yeah, hi Naruq,” Etka feigns dismissal. She waves a hand to usher Naruq along, who snorts good naturedly before going around the bar and outside—to the port, Noatak assumed.

“How’s my darling?” Etka grins as she drapes an easy arm along Noatak’s shoulders and leans into him, adding her weight atop the bag he is carrying, and he knows she knows it. The mischievous glint in her eyes is a dead giveaway.

“I’m doing good,” Noatak says honestly. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“As expected, you look dashing in them,” Etka flatters him, and despite anticipating it, Noatak’s cheeks heat under her easy gaze. She grins like a treacherous spirit before releasing him.

“It was nice having you,” she says, her tone unchanged but her expression somewhat more serious. Or, as serious as it could be. “Come back whenever you want to—I’ll mix as many drinks as you want.”

“Thanks,” Noatak says, and he actually kind of means it in response to the drinks, as well.

“Oh, here.” Etka reaches for a pen and some paper and scribbles a sequence of numbers on it before folding it and stuffing it into Noatak’s backpack. “It’s our phone number. Give us a call if you ever need anything, or just want to talk or whatever. Especially when you become a master. Onartak will pick you up and you’ll show us all your cool moves, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Noatak agrees with a smile. In truth, he will likely never speak to these people again—he shouldn’t, and when will he get his hands on a phone anytime soon, anyway? But the gesture touches him all the same. And, when he meets Etka’s gaze, something tells him she expects she will not hear from him anytime soon, either. But she gives him a reassuring smile anyway.

“Anything,” she repeats to him, like Naruq had said earlier. Noatak wonders if they rehearsed this or something, but it makes Noatak feel better regardless. He has never had others he felt comfortable depending on before—although, of course, he could not _completely_ depend on them. He is, after all, a bloodbender. It is branded into his identity, an ugly scar that he just happens to be able to hide more easily than others. But how many backs would turn on him if they knew?

Noatak drifts outside of the inn and looks around for Naruq, but he has of course disappeared towards the docks. Noatak hesitates for a moment, wondering if he should go back inside and ask Etka for directions, before he pauses and closes his eyes. _An experiment_.

Noatak had always been able to tell when other people were around and, more often than not, what they were doing. It had always been their blood flow, their heartbeats, the shift in their veins whenever they moved or spoke or _lied_. If he could sense blood, couldn’t he sense water? It would make sense, he thinks bitterly, for a prodigal bloodbender to at least manage something like that for waterbending.

It takes a moment of meditation, but eventually, Noatak feels the pull of water tugging at his skin and his chest. The ocean, the spirit La, whispers to him, coaxes him towards to water. He will always be able to find water, no matter where he is.

For some reason, the thought comforts him. Perhaps he has not been totally abandoned by the spirits after all—despite being an abhorrent perversion of waterbending, he thinks with a bitter twist of his mouth.

 _Stop_ , he insists. _This is supposed to be a new start. You’re not a bloodbender anymore. Just a regular waterbender. Act like it_.

But he _is_. He _is_ a bloodbender and no amount of pretending will ever deaden the pulses of life he feels everywhere he goes, the hums of life that seem to vibrate in his eardrums—

Noatak abruptly begins to follow the pull of the ocean through the city, following a somewhat familiar route that he took with Naruq when they first arrived here. Or, at least, the walls and buildings he is passing don’t look _completely_ unfamiliar.

His senses are well on point, however; he arrives at the port just as Naruq is waving at Onartak, shouting something about saving Noatak from Etka when he spots the young man approaching. He snorts and smiles a little, shakes his head somewhat as if he should’ve figured as much.

“Remembered how we got here yesterday?” he asks.

“No, I just—followed the ocean.”

It is an explanation that Naruq can never possibly understand—not really—but he says, “Smart kid.” He even gives him a pat on the back.

Onartak waves a hand from the deck of the boat. It is a modestly sized one, clearly made for swift but short trips made often. It is built lightly, with multiple sails to catch as much wind as possible.

“That the last bag, Noatak?” Onartak asks.

“Yeah!” Noatak shouts back, and Onartak clambers down the pier to pick up the sack.

“Thanks,” Onartak says as he takes it. “We’ll be heading out soon, so do whatever mushy shit you got to do now.” Onartak makes a disgusted face before replacing it with a grin and heading towards the ship.

Naruq and Noatak stand in silence for a moment, watching Onartak’s broad back, before they both begin at the same time:

“Naruq—”

“Kid—”

They pause, and Naruq laughs and Noatak gives a small smile.

“You start, kid.”

“Thank you,” he says for the umpteenth time, but that does not lessen his gratitude. “You saved my life and you helped me get a ship. You gave me gifts and you took care of me. It’s more than I expected—more than anything anyone’s done for me before, so, thank you.” That last part he perhaps should not have said—it alludes to a hard upbringing Noatak knew Naruq already suspects—but Naruq only nods.

“You’re welcome,” he says instead of the usual “don’t worry about it”, as Noatak expected he would say. “And Noatak, I’ll be honest with you—it’s pretty obvious you’ve been through some tough stuff in your life. More than the usual kid your age should, I think. But.” He places a hand on Noatak’s head, and he does not flinch away this time—with some effort. Its weight is solid and warm. “I think you’ve come out of it just fine. And, listen, I don’t know what business you have with your brother, but I want you to know—you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

The words are wildly unexpected, and Noatak swallows down a sudden lump in his throat. He ducks his head as much as he can underneath Naruq’s hand.

 _What do you know?_ he wants to say to the older man, but that would be disrespectful. What did he know? What did he know about the hunting trips, the times he had put real fear in his own little brother’s eyes, the time he reached into his veins and arteries and wouldn’t let go? _What do you know?_

But Naruq seems to hear his thoughts anyway, because he continues, “You seem like a genuinely good kid. And if you had to do some things you regret—some things with your brother—look, I’m not going to tell you you’re right in doing them, because I don’t know anything about the circumstances. But—kid, look at me.”

The words are so authoritative that Noatak looks up and meets Naruq’s steady steel eyes. “There’s no shame in trying to get out of bad situations,” he tells Noatak. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re no coward. You’re a person trying to survive.”

Noatak stares at Naruq and thinks to himself, _But I could’ve done so much_ more _. I could’ve dragged Tarrlok with me. I could’ve stopped my father so much earlier. I could’ve_ killed him _that night and if Tarrlok didn’t come with me at least he wouldn’t have to deal with him at home anymore…_

The sudden thought disturbs him, even though a part of him knows it makes perfect sense. His father was right there, defenseless, pathetic—Noatak even had him in the _perfect_ bloodbending grip. Just one more squeeze would’ve done it. He was even _tempted_ …

Why didn’t he?

_Because what kind of kid can kill his own father?_

But he’s _not_ a kid. Not just any kid.

Naruq seems to notice some of this internal conflict pass across Noatak’s face, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he spins him around and pushes him to the ship.

“Get going,” Naruq says, “or Onartak will leave you.”

His tone is joking, but regardless, Noatak does not want to keep Onartak waiting. With a nod, he strides to the ship, its captain lounging on a mast, patiently waiting for Noatak.

“Ready?” he asks, not unkindly, and Noatak gives a single nod. He boards the ship as Onartak lets down the sails and raises the anchor.

“Good luck!” Naruq calls from the shore, a single hand raised. Noatak turns and returns it, his expression carefully composed. He feels as if he should say something to Naruq—thank you, again, for the advice or something, or tell him something about the life he is trying to advise. Something about this goodbye feels…incomplete.

 _If I could’ve chosen any other father, it would’ve been you_ , Noatak suddenly thinks to himself, but it does not seem like the sort of thing to yell out to a man he’s not even known for a week—despite how certain he feels of this, now. Comfortable, understood, respected, _safe_ —aren’t those things a father is supposed to make a son feel, and isn’t that what Naruq had made Noatak feel these past few days? But Naruq is quickly fading from his vision, and Noatak cannot find the adequate words to express his sudden rush of emotions in such a short time.

“Thank you again!” Noatak finally settles on shouting. “I’ll never forget it!” And that is all he can offer, because he will never be able to return with a gift, or news of his success, but he is sure Naruq understands. But by then they are quite a ways out and he wonders if Naruq has even heard. But the man waves his hand to the side slightly, so Noatak hopes he has.

Eventually, the view of the port disappears, as does Naruq, and Noatak settles for watching the town go by as the drifted along the coast before they are out in the ocean. And while Noatak knew it was unlikely he would ever see him again, he clung to the small hope that yes, perhaps he will see Naruq again someday. 

“Aren’t we hugging the coastline?” Noatak asks Onartak, who is at the bow staring off at the sky, perhaps charting their course, although Noatak is not sure how he can without any stars in sight.

“Nah, the coast gives way into a bay a couple leagues out,” Onartak says. “Faster to go around in a straight line. Don’t worry kid, I’ll get you where you need to go.”

Noatak blushes. “I know. That’s not what I meant.”

Onartak says, “Don’t worry, Noatak. Didn’t mean it like that.” He turns and strides over to Noatak, pats his shoulders so hard that Noatak shook. So it wasn’t just the alcohol yesterday. “Learn to relax.”

“Everyone says that,” Noatak says almost sullenly.

“Maybe you should start taking their advice,” Onartak laughs. Then he beckons Noatak to follow him across the deck. “Come on, kid. I’ll show you where you can take a nap or whatever you kids do nowadays.”

“Is it going to take that long?”

“Not more than a day, day and a half, but you might get bored,” Onartak shrugs.

“Don’t you need me to waterbend or whatever?”

“Nah, not now,” Onartak waves a hand dismissively as they take the steps below deck. “The wind is on our side today, so there’s really no need for you to bend.”

“Oh,” Noatak blinks. He cannot help but feel like a freeloader in that case—after all, he came on this ship fully intending to work for the space he was given here—but if Onartak does not seem to mind, Noatak supposes he should not, either. It is not like he had been overly eager to stand on deck and practice one of the most simple minded push-pull techniques known to waterbenders.

Onartak shows him a couple of separate rooms which all have four cots in them and says Noatak is free to choose whichever one he likes. They all look exactly the same to him, however, so he just goes to the one that is closest to the stairs going back above deck, if he ever wants to escape to fresh air.

Noatak tries to take Onartak’s advice and kill time by napping, but the rocking of the ship keeps him awake. Not that he feels sick or uncomfortable—on the contrary, he feels more awake and aware than ever. He can almost sense the call of the water just beyond the trivial layer of wood against his back. If he closes his eyes, he can hear the rush of it deep within his skull, almost taste the salt on his lips. His fingers itch, and he begins to breathe in the same rhythm as the waves outside.

He will not be able to sleep. Noatak abruptly rises and stalks outside. Better to be underneath the sun, where he can _actually_ see the sea, instead of lying by himself inside.

Onartak is at the wheel, steering idly but not really seeming concerned—and Noatak can see why. The water is clear for now, with incidental chucks of ice harmlessly sliding past the stern. Noatak seats himself at the bow, where he can overlook the approaching water, so deep blue it looks almost black. Unknown, infinitely deep. He closes his eyes and meditates.

He has never done this, really. His father, despite his insistence in their mastery of water and bloodbending, had never emphasized meditation or quiet focus in his lessons. They were all aggressive, fast paced, quick and dirty and taught how to _kill_. But Noatak is focusing now, listening to the rush of water as it split past the bow. Eventually, he almost cannot feel the slight lift and fall of the ship anymore, just drinks in the smell of salt and the feeling of ocean spray sprinkling his cheeks. It’s chilly out, and the splashes of water are even chillier, but Noatak feels anything but cold. On the contrary, he is tempted to dive into the water and submerge himself under the waves, allow La to embrace him in his cold arms and never let him go.

Noatak opens his eyes and sees nothing has changed—the sky is still blue, the ocean still stretches behind him, and when he looks back, Onartak is looking straight ahead, steering. When he seeks Noatak shift, he looks down and catches his eye.

“You napping while sitting up?” Onartak teases him, and Noatak smiles a little in return before turning towards the sea again.

He rises, feeling a surge of listlessness, and peers over the edge of the ship. White foam rolls along the sides of the ship as it cut through the water. With a steadying breath, Noatak steps back and slips into a ready stance. His father had taught him this much, at least, in the technicalities of waterbending.

Noatak raises his arms and waits patiently as the water obligingly rushes up and curls over the edge of the ship. He coaxes it closer before bending his knees and shifting his weight around in a deliberate, steady rhythm. The water follows his palms as he runs it in a ring around him. It’s hardest when the water is behind his back, because he cannot see it. There are lapses in control there, where he loses confidence in himself, but he reminds himself he cannot see blood either, more often than not, and he never has trouble with controlling _that_. The water does not shudder as much as it passes behind him after that.

The movements are simple, to be sure, but Noatak finds the repetitiveness comforting. Occasionally he will bend the water into different shapes, or freeze it or make it begin to steam, but he always returns to the same ring of water circling him. _Push and pull_. On this ship, in the middle of the ocean, away from his father’s intimidating glare, Noatak begins to feel this.

Eventually, he bores, and he sends the water back into the ocean. He looks up, and Onartak is still at the wheel, evidently humming tunelessly to himself, looking utterly uninterested in what Noatak is doing. He is not sure if that is true or not, but he appreciates the gesture all the same. He finds he values privacy very much—perhaps because he felt he had so little when he was younger.

The pair of them partake in some casual small talk—although mostly it’s Onartak talking because he is good at it and enjoys it, and Noatak prefers it so. There is little in his life he is willing to share, but Onartak does not seem to share similar qualms. He opens up his life to Noatak at each careful question he asks, and soon Noatak feels as if he knows Onartak as well as Tarrlok. His favorite dish is seal soup, and he absolutely hates jellied urchins, which is considered a Water Tribe delicacy. Onartak met Naruq in an unfortunate joke set up by Etka, who had been feeling particularly malicious that day and used Naruq, an innocent middle aged man at the time, to rile Onartak up.

“Why, what did you do?” Noatak asks, and Onartak laughs.

“Everyone’s always blaming me when they hear this story,” he comments, although his tone is good natured. “Honestly, I don’t even remember anymore—but Etka probably does. Don’t tell her I said that.”

 _When would I even have the chance?_ But Noatak nods anyway, if only to speed the story along.

“Well, I was just walking into the bar, and she and I, we were still mad at each other for something stupid—like I said, I don’t remember—but here’s this older guy sitting at the bar, minding his own business, having a nice conversation with Etka, and when she sees me, she announces to me and the entire bar that she’s found her new love and she’s going to run away with him.”

Noatak struggles to hold back a strangled choke. While that does not seem too out of character for Etka, he can imagine how Naruq must have looked at the time. Vaguely horrified, no doubt.

“Well, now, Etka’s my only sister, and since our mom died the previous year we were still pretty protective of each other.” Noatak blinks at the casual mention of Onartak’s mother’s passing, but the older man glosses over it as if it’s nothing. “And then there’s this old guy that’s clearly way too old for my big sister—like, way too old, you know—so of course, I try and talk her out of it, and we get in a _huge_ argument.” Onartak rolls his eyes at the memory. “And, obviously, it turns back around to _whatever_ we were arguing about before, but I don’t really remember—well, I’ve said that already. Anyways, at some point, I’m turning on Naruq and getting in _his_ face, and, well, I bet you know he didn’t really appreciate that.”

Noatak makes a sympathetic grimace.

“Anyways, all I’m saying is, if I’m ever in a fight, Naruq’s the first guy I’m going to call,” Onartak winks. Noatak grins a little at that. _Me too,_ he’s tempted to say.

“And after all that, the bar’s emptied and here’s me and Naruq, all messed up and on the bar counter, and Etka telling us to stop ruining the varnish.” Onartak laughs to himself. “And she goes around like nothing’s happened, even though Naruq and I know she’s set us up. But she still says she has _no_ idea what we’re talking about whenever we bring it up. She does that _eye_ thing—you know.” Onartak does a dismally inadequate imitation of Etka’s wide eyed, ever so _slightly_ mocking innocent expression, but Noatak gets the point, and he nods and chuckles.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, beating each other up over nothing—it warms you up to a man,” Onartak shrugs. “Naruq had to stay in town for a bit after that. I roughed him up a bit. But he stayed at the inn those nights, and we ran into each other a lot. Eventually, he started helping me load up the ship and started trading with me and everything, and we’ve been friends since.” Onartak says this last part matter-of-factly, as if he would’ve never expected anything else. With the story finished, Noatak tilts his head and glances out to the ocean and the distant horizon. The sky is beginning to darken into indigo—the type Noatak would like to drown in, if waterbenders could drown. When he looks behind him, he sees the coast—a harsh outcropping of ice and stone—at their side.

“We’ll be there soon,” Onartak confirms what Noatak is hoping, and he cannot stop the leap in his chest. _The capital._ Waterbending heaven, they say. Where the masters reside. _Real_ masters, not ones that try and hone other human beings to be weapons, but people that seek to pass on their knowledge and experience for the sake of keeping their culture and traditions alive. Will he find one willing to teach him? Besides the obvious fact that no waterbender will ever tutor a bloodbender—not that Noatak plans to advertise this skill—he is no one. A peasant, random village kid that has wandered into the capital of his nation without any recommendations or referrals. How many renegade waterbenders has the capital been forced to accommodate? In the end, he will not be treated any different, which is both refreshing and frustrating.

He will take any master, he decides. Any one that will take him. They do not need to be the best, or the most popular, just capable. That is all Noatak can ask for and needs.

“You know what the plan is, when you get there?” Onartak asks. Noatak frowns a little.

“What do you mean?”

“Where you’ll be staying, how you’ll find a master, what you’ll be doing…”

“Oh.” Noatak pauses. “I…figured it’d be pretty easy to find a waterbending master. I guess if I don’t find one I’ll probably just find work or…maybe find passage to the Earth Kingdoms. And I can stay in an inn?” The more he spoke the more he is aware of how little an idea he had of what he would do when he actually got to the capital. Onartak has a smile on his face.

“Well, kid, if you want to, you can stay with me for a night or two. It’ll take me a bit to trade all of the goods away and reload the ship. I’ll probably be in the city for most of the week, so you can find a master or go to the Earth Kingdoms or whatever whenever you want.”

“Thank you,” Noatak says gratefully. It is relaxing to know he will not be alone in the Northern City—and, despite himself, he is not ready to completely separate himself from these people who have shown him kindness and hospitality.

Darkness is just falling when they arrive at the icy wall of the capital. It is so dark and well camouflaged Noatak almost misses it. The long, solid wall is quite literally built from the glaciers surrounding it, the ice flowing out of the cragged walls at its side. The Northern Water Tribe insignia is etched into its face, grand and proud. As they approach, Onartak goes below decks and returns with a horn, which he blows to announce their presence.

“Not as aware of what’s around at night,” Onartak explains with a mocking shake of the head. Noatak snorts a little as a light appears at the top of the gate.

“Who’s there?”

“Onartak with goods to trade and a friend.”

“Who’s the friend?”

Onartak raises an eyebrow at Noatak, and he realizes Onartak is waiting for Noatak to introduce himself. This makes sense; the only reason Onartak knows Noatak’s name is Noatak is because he let it slip in a drunken stupor.

“Noatak,” Noatak shouts up, feeling self-conscious about using any other name, now.

There is a moment of quiet where the light disappears from the top of the wall. Then, someone calls, “Alright, we’ll open the gate for you. Keep back.”

Noatak eyes the ice wall in front of him. They are directly in front of the insignia, and he can see the individual, painstaking etches made for each gracefully curved wave in the symbol. There are no hinges, and there are no doors in this wall. Yet, the man called it a “gate”. What gate?

His question is answered almost immediately; the wall rumbles, and as he watches, two smooth cuts slice down the wall, and the insignia sinks below the ocean waves. Beyond is a waterway, which the ship is pulled into seemingly by itself. With a quick glance upwards, however, Noatak spots the line of waterbenders both operating the gate and bending the ocean to coax the ship forward. He has never seen waterbending so blatantly integrated into a society right from the get-go. _Waterbending heaven_.

As they enter the waterway, the wall behind them is replaced once more, as solid and smooth as if it had never been sliced apart. As he watches, the water below them begins to rise and lifts them upwards. Noatak cranes his neck and observes the waterbenders moving as a unit: smooth bends in the knees, deliberate lifts of their hands, careful breaths taken at once. Noatak seeks to memorize each movement, every action.

The ship reaches the top of the waterway at last, and they are presented with one long canal to drift across. As usual, waterbenders are at their side, dragging the ship with steady push-pull movements down the water. They move surprisingly fast, and the ship is pulled into a dock and placed in a spot neatly and efficiently. When they step off the ship, Onartak is handed a wooden tag.

“Your number,” supplies the waterbender that gives it to him, and Onartak nods. He’s done this many times before. He pockets the tag before beckoning Noatak to follow.

It is late in the evening, and the sky reflects this. Noatak cranes his neck to stare at the stars, and while he is sure they cannot be that much different from those he is familiar with, he suddenly feels worlds away from his hometown. But regardless, these stars are as equally quiet and cold as the ones he is used to. He looks down and instead takes in the city around him.

As expected, everything is made of ice, and water has been integrated everywhere. Noatak and Onartak walk across bridges gracefully arching over canals of dark blue, complicated and beautiful carvings painstakingly etched into the faces of each curve of ice. Near the docks, there is still activity, and as they move closer to the main city, Noatak nearly forgets it is the middle of the night. Lights are on and twinkling in strings above him, merchants are shouting so much their voices are hoarse, and waterbending tricks and games are happening on every corner. Noatak jumps out of the way as a small group of waterbending boys race by, playfully splashing water and laughing to themselves. He feels his heart leap as he sees a boy with a similar hairstyle to Tarrlok’s—but he looks older than Tarrlok. Would Noatak and Tarrlok be that way—carefree, full of life—if they had a normal life?

Onartak is similar to Naruq in that he parts a crowd as easily as a waterbender might part the water. Noatak trails after Onartak as he splits the sea of people, glancing where he can at the different activities going on. People in front of restaurants laughing at some joke, animals trailing behind their owners hoping to pick up scraps, vendors selling ice cream and dried seal meat, and children. So many children, allowed to run around to their heart’s content, unbridled.

 _Lucky_ , Noatak thinks to himself, and not without some bitterness. There is little time to linger on his sour feelings, however; Onartak leads them to a small inn—“Best I can afford,” he says in good humor—and announces his presence as soon as he opens the door. He is welcomed with a thunderous roar.

“Onartak, you bastard!”

“Back again?”

“Long time no see.”

“You look terrible.”

“So, nothing’s changed is what you’re saying.”

Onartak takes all of these responses and more with grace, and he laughs along with them as they make fun of him at his expense. Even Noatak feels himself smiling. It’s odd. He has never smiled this much in his life, but in the past few days, his cheeks almost ache from doing it so much. How depressing.

“This is Noatak,” Onartak introduces the boy when someone asks. He slaps a pounding hand on Noatak’s shoulder, making his knees tremble—as usual. Is he really that weak?

“He’s a waterbender from one of the outer towns,” Onartak says smoothly, even though Noatak is sure he has never mentioned where he has come from before. “Parents sent him over because he begged to be taught by a _master_.”

That gets a few laughs.

“Couldn’t be satisfied with the small town goons, eh, Noatak?” someone calls from the back, and there’s another wave of chuckles. Noatak laughs along with them and says, “Of course not—I’m only good enough for the best.”

His faux bravado earns him a roar of approval, and people are already coming to him, recommending him this master or that, and why he should ignore what _that_ half-wit idiot is saying, because _he_ doesn’t know what he’s talking about…

“Alright, alright,” Onartak silences everyone at last. “Kid’s tired, I’m tired, we’re all tired. Let us get a couple of rooms and we’ll get some recommendations from you tomorrow, yeah?”

That sounds fair to everyone else; they allow Onartak and Noatak past them and upstairs into a couple of open rooms. Noatak enters one while Onartak enters the other.

“Thank you for your help,” Noatak says before Onartak closes his door.

“Nah, kid. It was my pleasure,” Onartak says with a brief smile. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Noatak returns the pleasantry politely before disappearing into his own room. He falls asleep almost immediately, despite the noise of the people from below, with the bright moon watching over him.


	7. 1.6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noatak faces his greatest threat yet in the form of a steamed bun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter compared to others, I believe. Had to take care of some personal things over the past couple of months but I am alive and still determined to see this story through. Anyways, thanks for sticking around! As usual, you can message me here or on thelordwrites on Tumblr if you have any concerns or comments.

 

As it turns out, finding a master is not so easy. Mostly because they demand payment in some form or another, and Noatak is nothing short of broke.

“I guess I’ll just need to find a job,” Noatak says dejectedly as he and Onartak exit a small waterbending academy. At this, Onartak laughs.

“Don’t sound too excited about it,” he teases, and Noatak gives a sheepish smile.

“I don’t know what I’d work as,” Noatak sighs. “I don’t have any experience in anything.”

“Won’t be too hard to find something in a city like this,” Onartak shrugs unconcernedly, “even if it’s just washing dishes or something.”

Noatak frowns a little at the idea of spending the rest of his days washing dishes, but it does prove a point: he lacks any practical skills. His one selling point is waterbending, but of course, in the Capital of the North, that hardly counts for anything. Sensible things—sewing, cooking, arithmetic, and other things taught both at home and at school—those are things Tarrlok is good at.

And all things, of course, their father never bothered to congratulate or encourage. In their household, the only relevant ability was the art of bending blood.

“Anyways, all those places seemed snobby,” Onartak wrinkles his nose, and Noatak laughs a little.

“Did you just say ‘snobby’?”

“Seriously, Noatak, I think you can do much better than those places.”

“Those were actually the best academies for waterbending in the entire city. You heard the tour guide.”

“Tour guides are made for the tourists,” Onartak shrugs dismissively. “You got to ask a local who really knows the place.

Noatak frowns at this. “I guess.” But who to ask? Onartak, indeed, knows quite a few people in in the Capital, but they are all traders. They pass through this city and others, but few are permanent residents here. And, as far as Noatak can tell, they are all nonbenders. He is unsure they know any waterbending masters in this city.

“Anyways, should we get some lunch? I know a good place.”

“Sounds good,” Noatak agrees, shaking off his concerns. The city is big. He will find a master and way to pay for the expenses somehow, he trusts. And if he doesn’t, well, he supposes it doesn’t matter much. Finding a waterbending master was more of Onartak and Etka’s idea, not his, even if it’s a particularly tempting one. Rationally, Noatak knows that it is better if he keeps moving—perhaps into the Earth Kingdoms. Even though he has not heard from his father or brother for the past couple of weeks now, he must not become comfortable. He can never afford to be comfortable anywhere.

 _Yeah_ , Noatak thinks to himself as he stabs a steamed bun with his chopsticks. _Maybe waterbending isn’t worth it_.

“You don’t like it?”

“No,” Noatak replies hastily, snapping his head up. He takes the bun and stuffs it into his mouth—and instantly regrets it. He chokes past his burned tongue and grasps for his cup of water.

“Here,” Onartak says carefully. It’s clear from his expression he is trying hard not to laugh. Noatak throws him a rueful look before taking the cup and swallowing down the water and the bun.

“It was hotter than I expected,” Noatak mutters as he replaces the cup on the table. Onartak coughs a little.

“Yeah,” Onartak nods sagely. “Guess that’s what happens when you steam buns, huh?”

Noatak ducks his head and chugs down some more water as Onartak finally breaks down into a fit of laughter.

“It’s good,” Noatak says around his mildly burned tongue.

“One of my favorites,” Onartak agrees as he takes a bun for his own.

“Yeah,” Noatak nods. “It’s my brother’s favorite, too.”

Onartak glances up at the voluntary mention of Noatak’s brother, and Noatak picks at the remaining bun on his plate meditatively.

“How old’s your brother?”

An innocent enough question. Noatak answers readily. “Twelve.”

Twelve and a bloodbender. Tarrlok sounds so much younger when Noatak says his age aloud.

“What’s he like?”

Noatak blinks. He has never spoken about his brother about anyone.

“He’s smart,” Noatak says at last. “He’s good at school—everything in school. And everyone loves him. He’s always willing to do everyone favors. Always wants to do his best. Gets scared too easily. He’s a good kid.”

“Sounds like it.”

“He was always following me around,” Noatak continues, perhaps not hearing Onartak. “I think he really admired me. Older brother and everything.” He carefully places his chopsticks on his plate. “He’s a good kid,” he reasserts.

Onartak waits for a moment to see if Noatak will say anything else, but that is apparently all the boy is willing to say about his kid brother; he goes back to eating his food wordlessly, as does Onartak.

“Listen, Noatak,” Onartak opens a conversation again as they finish their meal. The waiter brings out the receipt and fruit as their dessert while Noatak glances up at Onartak’s tone with a mild frown.

“I’m going to have to head back in a couple of days,” Onartak says, his expression unnaturally serious. “And, look, I’d be happy to take you back, and you can spend as much time with us as you want—but I have a feeling you want to stick around here.”

Noatak hesitates, because for a moment, he is genuinely tempted to say that he would be glad to stay with Onartak and Etka. The prospect of staying here, in this city, by himself, is, in a word, lonely.

But he must continue to move. While the threat of his father and Tarrlok finding him dwindles by the day, there is something in the North’s tundra that holds bad memories. And the idea of living his life carelessly, happily, with Etka and Onartak while Tarrlok is stuck with their mother and father, somehow wracks Noatak with guilt.

“Your face says no,” Onartak comments smartly, and Noatak nods.

“Thank you for the offer,” he says politely, “but yeah, I think I’ll stay.” _Somehow_. He will not be able to pay for the hotel, at least, by himself.

“Don’t look so serious,” Onartak says as he takes a bite out of his lychee fruit. “I’ll help you find a place before I leave, at least. Not like I’m going to abandon you on the street.”

“Thanks,” Noatak breathes a sigh of relief. Onartak smiles a little.

“No problem kid. You done?”

Noatak rises out of his seat as an answer, and Onartak places a few bills atop the receipt and follows Noatak out of the restaurant. When they return to the hotel, Onartak says, “I’m going to ask the owner if he knows any job openings for you. Do you want to go to the room or stay with me?”

Noatak has very little desire to go around and ask for jobs to wash dishes, but he supposes it’d be ungrateful to have Onartak do it alone on his behalf. Noatak follows the older man to the welcome desk of the inn and watches him ask the man there to speak to the owner.

“You’re looking at him,” the man says, his voice crisp and no-nonsense. He lowers his spectacles from his nose onto the table next to a record of what Noatak assumes are the tenants of the building. He is thinner than both Onartak and Naruq, and while there is a gracious dark beard covering it, Noatak feels this man has a somewhat weak chin. The faint specks of gray in his hair and the fine wrinkles around his eyes betrays the man’s age.

“Qannik,” he introduces himself, holding out a polite hand. Onartak takes it and shakes it with hearty zeal.

“Onartak.”

“How may I help you, Onartak?”

“This young man here is in need of some work, and a place to stay,” Onartak says, placing a hand on top of Noatak’s shoulder. Qannik casts a glance at Noatak.

“We were wondering if you would be willing to take him in, or if you knew of any places that might do the same.”

“Hello,” Noatak says somewhat hoarsely before clearing his throat. “I’m Noatak.”

“My sister and I were taking care of him for the past couple of days, but he’d prefer to stay here instead of staying with us.”

“Oh?” Qannik raises an eyebrow, not taking his gaze off Noatak. “And where are you from, Noatak?”

Noatak blinks and hesitates, wondering what he should say. It’s not that he has a particular problem with saying he’s from a small, random village, but he wonders how that will come off to Qannik. When Onartak doesn’t say anything, however, Noatak says, “I’m from a fishing village somewhat off the coast. It’s probably a couple of days’ travel from here.”

“And what use do I have for a boy from a fishing village?”

It’s a fair question, but the bluntness of it makes Noatak flush. Onartak notices, and Noatak can tell that the older man is about to step in, but Qannik has still not shifted his gaze from Noatak. It’s not Onartak he’s asking; it’s Noatak, the boy he’s supposedly going to hire.

“I’m a hard worker,” Noatak interjects over Onartak, trying his best to look confident. “I don’t plan on getting hired just to waste your time, sir. I’ll do everything you want. I’m not a whiner.”

“It’s true,” Onartak vouches for him with a broad smile. Noatak feels Onartak might actually be somewhat impressed with the younger boy. “I only had him for a couple of days, but it made the work day a lot easier.”

Qannik blinks expressionlessly before sighing and saying, “Well, I do have an opening for a bus-boy sort of role. You’ll be taking baggage for the tenants and taking care of the roster when I’m not here. You may occasionally be called to do menial things—take out trash, wash dishes, whatever’s needed of you. Can you do these things?”

“Yes.”

“And, in terms of lodgings, you say you have none?”

“Yes—I mean, no, I don’t.”

“Then you may stay here, in one of the smaller rooms, and we will provide you meals, but your pay will be cut significantly. Almost nothing, really, if the expenses are deducted from the usual pay for such a role. Would you still like to stay here?”

Noatak pauses to think about it and glances at Onartak for guidance. He shrugs and says, “Honestly, any other place will probably be a lot more expensive, and that’s without the food thrown in.”

“Then, I guess I’ll stay here.”

“Alright,” Qannik says. He puts his spectacles back on and looks through the roster. “You’re in room 209?”

“That’s us,” Onartak answers.

“And I presume you are vacating soon?”

“Yeah, I was going to leave at the end of the week,” Onartak says.

“Then, Noatak, you may move your belongings to room 112. That will be your room. It is directly across from the kitchen, near the back of the building.” Qannik opens a drawer and pulls out a key.

“Your room key.”

Noatak takes it. _His key_. A place for his own. Granted, it’s in an inn, but he has never had his own space before—much less one that he can lock up or unlock whenever he feels like it.  

“You may begin working when Onartak leaves,” Qannik continues without pause. “This Monday, perhaps, given that he is leaving later this week. That will give you the weekend to become familiar with this place. Is this acceptable to you?”

“Yes,” Noatak nods. Not like it’s his place to say anything different.

“Alright,” Qannik says. “Then, that’s all. You may start moving your things, if you wish, although there’s no rush.”

“It’s alright,” Noatak says wryly. “I don’t have a lot of stuff to move, anyway.”

Qannik blinks once but does not question this; instead he goes back to writing something in the roster, clearly considering the conversation over.

“Thank you, Qannik,” Onartak says gratefully over the desk, and Noatak jumps a little and adds, “Yes, thank you very much, sir.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Qannik replies, his tone flat but polite. “I did, after all, have an opening.”

Just as they were going to depart to their room, Onartak stops in his tracks and calls back to the innkeeper.

“We were looking for a waterbending master for Noatak,” Onartak says. “Someone, you know, more affordable, but still good. Do you know anyone?”

Qannik looks at Noatak up and down. “You’re a waterbender, Noatak?”

“Yes.” He tries not to fidget under Qannik’s scrutinizing gaze.

There is a moment of silence as Qannik takes Noatak in before he says, “There will be very few masters in this city that are reputable yet still affordable enough for your wages. And when I say few, I mean practically none—no names come to mind for me, at least.”

Noatak deflates a little, but he supposes that is nothing less than he expected. And why is he so disappointed, anyway? So he misses out on some waterbending. He doesn’t need to be a master to be successful in life. In fact, perhaps this is a good thing. The farther he gets from bloodbending, perhaps he’ll get farther from his father, as well.

“That’s too bad,” Onartak voices his disappointment.

“However,” Qannik continues, almost ignoring Onartak, as he continues to look at Noatak in the eye, “there are multiple, fairly accomplished waterbenders on staff here. I’m sure that, if you were to ask, they would not mind teaching you in their free time—if you’re polite about asking.”

“Of course!” Noatak exclaims without even realizing it. He stifles his own outburst by ducking his head before saying with less excitement, “Which staff members are they? I can start asking them this week.”

“Wait, you’re saying you have master waterbenders on your staff?” Onartak interrupts the conversation, and Noatak feels himself blush at Onartak’s skeptical tone. He had considered this also—why would master waterbenders be on staff at an inn of all places?—but he thought it would be too rude to ask. And he is not about to refuse any teaching he can get. But Onartak, like a concerned parent, interjects to make sure Noatak is not getting the short end of any stick.

Qannik does not seem fazed by the question. “As you might expect, the Capital is full of waterbenders. I hesitate to say my staff members are _masters_ , but they are quite skilled, I assure you. However, practically speaking, there’s a limited amount of spaces for even the most accomplished waterbenders in this city. And some simply did not want to pursue waterbending-related fields.”

“But they’re good?”

“Very good.” Qannik’s tone leaves little room for doubt. Then, he adds somewhat dryly, “And if you continue to insist the presence of a master, I suppose it’s worth mentioning my daughter has been regarded as a master many times over in this city.”

Onartak starts a little. “Your daughter? You’re a waterbender, as well?” It’s hard to believe; not all waterbenders are buff by any means, but they are at least well-toned, and Qannik, quite simply, just seems slight and easily knocked over.

“My wife was,” Qannik replies. “I’m a nonbender.” Qannik turns his attention back to Noatak. “Anana will likely be more than happy to teach you. She’s that sort of character. I will ask her tonight.”

Noatak swallows and says, “Thank you very much—I appreciate it.”

“Of course, this cannot interfere with your duties in the inn. That is the main reason you should be here for.”

“Yes—yeah, of course.”  

“Then, if we’re all in agreement, it seems there are no more problems,” Qannik says briskly. “I will let Anana know she will have a new student. She may want to speak with you tomorrow or the next day and get to know you.”

“It would be an honor,” Noatak replies honestly. He has never been in the presence of a master (his father, after all, hardly counted, especially when his waterbending was taken away).

“Then, if there’s nothing else, I will see you in a few days, Noatak,” Qannik says as a farewell before going back to his roster.

“I’ll see you,” Noatak says. “Thank you—again.”

Qannik nods to show that he has heard, but does not raise his head from his book. Noatak and Onartak take this has their leave, and make way to their room. All the while, he imagines what this Anana will be like, and tries to contain his excitement—because, despite himself, he _is_ excited. Soon, he’ll be in the presence of a master.


	8. 1.7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say hi to Anana she's cool I swear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my lengthy disappearance. Had a lot of real life stuff going on that made me take a real pause in anything that wasn't absolutely essential, and unfortunately this was one of those things. Still, I'm determined to see this through. With a bit of luck, I'll be back on a monthly schedule however.  
> On another note, this is another relatively short chapter, particularly considering the wait I've made you all sit through for it, but it's here nonetheless. I hope you enjoy it regardless.  
> As usual, you can reach me here or on my tumblr, thelordwrites. I hope to speak to you a soon.

“You going to be okay, kid?”  
  
Noatak shakes off the heavy hand on his head and snorts a little. “I’ll be better once you stop treating me like a baby.”  
  
Onartak laughs and puts his hand back on Noatak’s hair and ruffles it. “Man, what did I do to deserve that tone, kid?” But Onartak doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to find it more amusing than anything else, which kind of irritated Noatak, but not enough to keep the grin off his face.  
  
Onartak’s boat is swaying patiently behind him, exactly in the same state and place as it was a week ago when they arrived. A week. Noatak is astounded how quickly he became comfortable with Onartak in the span of a week. Far more comfortable with him than he did his own father, most certainly. Honestly, Noatak would not mind trading his father for Onartak or Naruq—men he barely know, but ones he knows he can trust.  
  
 _Except the part about you being a bloodbender, right?_  
  
“Thank you for everything, Onartak,” Noatak says, sobering abruptly. “Really.”  
  
“You’re welcome, Noatak,” Onartak replies seriously, and surprisingly not saying “Don’t worry about it” or “It’s no problem, kid” like he usually does. He lowers his hand onto Noatak’s shoulder, steady and confident.  
  
“You’ll be fine,” he tells Noatak, as if it was Noatak that asked instead of Onartak. “You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure it all out.”  
  
Noatak isn’t sure why Onartak feels the need to say this, but he finds it reassuring anyway. He smiles and says, “Thanks—I know.”  
  
Onartak laughs again and gives Noatak a light punch on the upper arm before turning around, heading for his boat. Noatak watches patiently as Onartak readies the ship for departure before the waiting waterbenders begin bending the boat out into the waterway.  
  
“Good luck, kid!” Onartak calls to Noatak, raising a single hand in farewell.  
  
“You too!” Noatak shouts back, waving. “Say thank you to Naruq and Etka from me, too!”  
  
Onartak gives him a thumbs-up to show that he’s heard before turning his attention to the water before him. Before long, his ship and his broad back disappears into the waterway, and Noatak watches as he feels the canals sink and the water be bent into the sea below.  
  
Suddenly, Noatak is left alone in the cavern. He is struck by how quiet and empty it feels already without Onartak here.  
  
It’ll be like this a lot, I guess, Noatak thinks to himself wanly. People will always be leaving him—or he will leave them. He would never be able to afford to settle down or become comfortable with anyone. Not really. No one would ever forget the terror of Yakone, and the sin of bloodbending would forever stick to his skin like tar.  
  
But, as Noatak exits the cavern and reenters Waterbending Heaven, he wonders if, perhaps, shouldering bloodbending might be worth it. The icy city felt more natural and real than any place he had ever been before. Noatak roams over bridges with gondolas being waterbent through the canals and passes parks with children playing games around fountains, waving water onto each other and laughing. As with every time he sees these children, a stab pierces Noatak’s heart. They remind him of Tarrlok, and he again wonders what it’d be like if his little brother was here. They could be here eating some of the best food they’ve had together, and they could be staying together, keeping each other company. They could be going to meet a waterbending master together.  
  
Because that is where Noatak is heading, of course. Qannik’s daughter had requested the two of them meet today. Noatak is pretty sure Onartak’s one real regret about leaving today is that he will not be able to meet Qannik’s daughter himself, but he could not afford to stay much longer. He has a business to run, after all.  
  
Noatak returns to the inn and walks through the front door. He sees Qannik at the desk, as usual, with a tall woman standing next to him, talking. Her hair is sleek and dark, but pulled back in an uncomplicated braid along her neck and back. There are few decorations or ornaments in her hair, none of her wrists, and no necklace on her neck. Her clothes are finely made but are simple and practical. Her bright blue eyes are alert and intelligent. Noatak can tell this is the sort of woman that values efficiency over flashiness. At his approach, Qannik looks up from the conversation he is having with the woman.  
  
“Ah, you’ve arrived,” he says. “Anana, this is Noatak. Noatak, my daughter, Anana.”  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Noatak,” Anana smiles brightly and extends a hand. Noatak shakes it and returns the greeting.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, too. Thank you so much for teaching me.”  
  
“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugs. “I needed an excuse to practice, anyway.”  
  
“If you two don’t mind, can you speak more inside?” Qannik says. “You’re blocking the entrance.”  
  
Anana shoots Noatak a small, private smile at her father’s request before leading the way inside. She sits at a small table in the lobby area and waves Noatak to take the seat across from her.  
  
“So, tell me about yourself, Noatak,” she tells him. “What’s your waterbending training been like so far?”  
  
Images of cold tundra nights and convulsing animal bodies bloomed in Noatak’s mind, but he is fairly certain this is not the sort of training Anana is thinking of. He hesitates for a moment, however; while his bloodbending training has been extensive, it takes him a while to remember the last waterbending move he ever learned.  
  
“Not much,” he finally settles on saying when he concludes the most he’s done with water is wave it around in the air a little bit before his father forced them to move onto blood.  
  
Anana nods, as if this is what she expected. “Okay, that’s fine. Are you busy right now?”  
  
Noatak blinks at the sudden change in subject, but he replies, “No, I don’t start work until tomorrow.”  
  
Anana grins. “Then would you mind if we had our first lesson right now? Just so I can get a feel for where you’re at myself.”  
  
This takes Noatak by surprise—and he suddenly feels very nervous. A conversation is one thing, but he had not been expecting to be forced to show his skills already. Despite himself, he is embarrassed by his lack of waterbending skill—particularly when his bloodbending might as well be prodigious. His father told him as much when he was younger (with a distinct crow to his voice, as if it’s the proudest thing he’s said and ever will say about his oldest son, the genius bloodbender). He could feel his own blood begin to pound in his head.  
  
“Don’t be nervous,” Anana tells him as she rises. She doesn’t even wait for him to respond. Instead, she holds out a hand to help him up. “I’m your teacher. You can trust me.”  
  
Noatak still hesitates, but supposes he has very few options. He takes Anana’s hand and allows her to lead him to a courtyard in the back of the inn.  
  
“How old are you, Noatak?”  
  
“Fifteen.”  
  
“Oh, you’re a lot younger than I thought. You look a lot older.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“That’s a compliment,” Anana reassures him with a smile. “It means you look mature.”  
  
 _That’s probably because I’ve gone through a lot more than people three times my age_ , he thinks to himself somewhat bitterly before saying, “Thank you. How old are you?”  
  
“Twenty.”  
  
Noatak pauses in the entrance of the courtyard. “Oh.”  
  
“Something wrong?” Anana raises an eyebrow over her shoulder.  
  
“You’re younger than I thought you’d be. For a master.”  
  
Anana grins almost mischievously. “That’s what they all say.”  
  
Noatak is not sure what to say to that, so he settles for smiling in return before looking around the courtyard. It is a simple open area, with the ground covered with packed snow and the walls made of high, slippery ice. In the middle of the courtyard is an old but carefully carved ice fountain with water steadily trickling out of it. At the back of the courtyard are some large clay pots, which Anana is in the process of picking up. It reaches almost to her hip. As she reaches for another, Noatak hurries to help her.  
  
“Thank you,” she says as he takes that one himself. “Let’s fill these with water.”  
  
Noatak places one of the pots on one side of the fountain, opposite Anana, as instructed. Following her lead, he bend some of the water from the fountain into the pot. And even though it is a simple exercise, he can feel Anana’s careful eyes on him, and he feels ridiculously nervous.  
  
“Relax,” she suddenly appears next to him, and he jumps. He loses focus on the water he is bending, but Anana lifts a hand and catches it before it splashes to the ground.  
  
“Do you know what you’re supposed to think about when you’re waterbending?”  
  
“Push and pull?” Noatak suggests perhaps somewhat testily; it is a saying he has heard enough.  
  
Anana smiles. “Yes, Tui and La are certainly important aspects to waterbending, but no, that’s not what I meant.” She steps in front of Noatak, effortlessly slipping into a soft lunge in her knees and pulling the stream of water with her. It follows her hands as she coaxes it around and behind her.  
  
“Water is precious,” Anana says quietly as she waterbends, her eyes never leaving the water flowing in front of her. Noatak watches her every movement, feeling as if he is watching something sacred. “In more ways than one. We need it to live, obviously—where water is, life follows. But practically speaking, water isn’t everywhere. We won’t always have a water source near us, as waterbenders, to use. Of course, some people use the water in plants to bend, and some advanced waterbenders can bend moisture out of plants and even the air. But those are very advanced techniques—not something you should worry about right now.” With a slow breath, Anana straightens and pulls apart the single stream of water into two. Noatak can almost feel the bending flow from even the tips of her fingertips as the water falls into separate pieces, one slipping into each hand. She closes her eyes and takes another breath.  
  
Then, without warning, she throws one of the streams at him, separating it into millions of small drops, elongating them, and freezing them all into deadly shards of ice in the span of seconds in the middle of the air. With a spike of panic, Noatak ducks out of the way, unceremoniously falling to the ground to his left.  
  
“This is waterbending training, Noatak!” Anana calls to him. “The point is to waterbending.”  
  
Noatak grits his teeth and keeps himself from saying something he’ll regret to his master. How was he supposed to know she was going to attack him out of nowhere? What sort of training is this? He was expecting breathing exercises, some physical training, maybe being taught a couple of waterbending moves, not sparring! How is he supposed to even go even with a master?  
  
“Get up, Noatak!” Anana orders him. “Water never sits still.” Noatak looks up just soon enough to roll out of the way of a deluge of water. It slams into the ground where he just was. Wasting no more time, Noatak scrambles to his feet. He isn’t going to take more hits for free, and he isn’t going to just walk out like a baby. And even if her heartbeat indicates Anana does not even consider this a warmup, she is serious enough that Noatak should take it seriously too.  
  
“Good,” she nods before pulling in more water from the pot next to her and sending it whipping towards Noatak. He barely manages to bend the water from the pot next to him to mitigate the oncoming impact a bit before the whip catches him full in the chest, sending him toppling again.  
  
“You’re thinking too much!” she criticizes him. “Stop trying to think your way out, Noatak. You’re a _water_ bender. Start acting like one!”  
  
 _What does that even mean?_ Noatak thinks frustratedly. The only meaning he ever had about being a waterbending was being a bloodbender. For a savage moment, as he picks himself up from the ground, he is even tempted to give Anana’s heart a small squeeze, just to see how she might react, before quashing even the notion. Don’t screw up, now.  
  
Anana doesn’t wait for Noatak to catch his breath; she sends another whip towards him, and even though somewhere in the back of his mind her movements are positively lazy, his reaction isn’t. He overcomes her own control of the whip as it flies towards him and almost stumbles as he feels the force of it enter his own hands. He turns and coaxes it to turn with him in a rapid arc before practically throwing it back at Anana. She makes a flicking motion with her hand as it approaches, and Noatak watches as his stream of water takes a sharp, angular turn to the right.  
  
“Now you’re learning,” Anana smiles before launching another attack. She quickly moves into a squatting stance before sending multiple shots of rapidly flying water at Noatak. He reactively bends a sheet of ice to stop them, but they’re much faster than he anticipated, and his sheet of ice is evidently too thin. They pierce through the ice, and Noatak jumps back and puts up his hands. The water bullets pause abruptly in midair, suspended for hair breadths of a second, before he sweeps one hand back and another forward, bends down in a lunge, and send them right back to Anana. She smiles a little and already begins slipping into another form—and in that moment, he can tell what she’s going to do. The sweeping motion of her arms, the side lunge of her legs, the positioning of her shoulders, all told him she is planning on redirecting the water in the air.  
  
With a burst of inspiration, Noatak straightens and raises his arms before pressing them forward and spreading out his fingers. In midair, the water droplets flatten out into multiple deadly disks. And with almost vicious satisfaction, Noatak notes Anana’s eyes widen minutely—she’s taken by surprise—before she quickly pivots on the ball of her foot and spins out of the way of the onslaught of razor-sharp ice disks, which continue to whistle through the air before shattering on the wall behind where she just was.  
  
“Water never sits still, right?” Noatak cannot help himself from crowing at her. She blinks at the fine shards of ice on the ground before turning to Noatak with a strange look. But it melts away in a second as a grin spreads across her face.  
  
“You’re right,” she laughs as she lifts her hand. Noatak bends into the heels of his feet, preparing to brace against an attack, before he feels the faint shift of water behind him. It is like a distant tugging on his skin and heartstrings—a stirring that he got whenever he is next to tides, but far weaker.  
  
With little time to think, Noatak rolls to the side to avoid whatever is behind him. A thunder of snow crashes onto where he was just a moment ago.  
  
Anana gives him no breathing room, however. He can feel her steady heartbeat but the slight, subtle tension and release of her blood as she slips into another stance. Unwilling to be the one reacting this time, Noatak jumps to his feet and bends the water out of the fountain rather than the pot to his left. He can feel the strain on his heart and his muscles for moving a greater volume of water, and sweat beats on his temple, but he does not release his grip as he heaves a wave out of the fountain and slams it, with a yell, at Anana. She looks up at the oncoming wall of water and laughs out loud before he loses sight of her underneath it.  
  
In seconds, the water balloons into a sphere, and then a fast moving ring, around Anana. Noatak loses whatever feeble control of the wave he had left. With practiced dexterity and easy flexibility, Anana bends back and sends the ring farther behind her, then bends forward and sweeps Noatak inside it too. His hair and the fur lining his anorak flutter to the side as the water rushes past, and as the ring begins to squeeze smaller, Noatak is forced to step forward.  
  
“Don’t look so scared, Noatak,” Anana tells him with a smile. “I won’t hurt you.”  
  
When there is only five strides between himself and Anana, his master brings her hands up. The ring of water pauses in its rotation but abruptly shoots upwards into an elegant and huge dome.  
  
Anana continues to bring the two of them closer together, an ever-present smile on her face as the dome shrinks in size. No way out left, right, or above Noatak. He takes another forced step forward before gritting his teeth. She wants a battle? He’ll give her one.  
  
He pivots his feet so ice braces them to the ground before sending a slicing hand through the wall next to him. A stream of water spins into Noatak’s hand as the dome begins to collapse around them. With a huff, Noatak swings his hand down in a decisive arc, and the water he’s gathered snaps down in a wide, forceful whip. He can hear the air whistle as it flies, and he can tell Anana can as well. She drops her concentration on maintaining the dome, water tumbling onto their heads, as she raises her hands to block the whip rushing towards her head.  
  
With a twist of his wrist, Noatak spins the whip around so it wraps around Anana’s waist. Noatak gives a strong yank just as his whip closes around her, throwing her off balance, and she pitches forward before grits her teeth, takes a step forward, and ices her feet to the ground before putting a hand forward and pulling back. Noatak feels the ripple run through his whip as Anana tries to make it hers, instead. For a moment, Noatak struggles valiantly, but Anana gives a short, impatient breath before a surge of current seizes control of the water from Noatak’s grasp. He lets out a short gasp as he relinquishes all semblance of resistance as he feels like something is being torn out of his arms. Without pause, Anana swoops her hands forward and stretches the whip into a wide wave. She continues to gather water from the fountain and the pots around them, and Noatak nervously takes a step backwards, chest heaving and a butter taste in his mouth. He is not used to being outmatched.  
  
_Hold your ground,_  Noatak thinks to himself as Anana sends her small wave at him in a blast of water. Noatak lifts his hands and braces himself, icing past his feet up to halfway up his calves, as the onslaught comes towards him.  
  
It takes him about half a second to realize he miscalculated the force behind Anana’s deluge. The water slams into Noatak’s hands, exploding into a wall of water that threatens to send him flying backwards. It feels genuinely like the bones in his arms are going to crack, and the braces around his legs are hurting more than helping. With an internal tsk, Noatak thaws out his legs and allows the wave to send him flying backwards, leaving him strewn out and worn on the ground.  
  
Presently, he hears footsteps approaching, and he grits his teeth and tries to find the energy to rise. But it’s no use—his arms and legs ache more than they ever have, and he is out of ideas on how to outsmart Anana.  
  
Then an extended hand appears in his vision. Noatak blinks for a moment before, with effort, he takes it and allows Anana to help him up.  
  
“Sorry,” she says when she is in Noatak’s sight. “I didn’t think you would try and stop it head on. I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.”  
  
“Yeah,” Noatak moodily accepts the apology. He drops his grip on Anana’s hand and proceeds to bend the remaining water off of himself, a distinct frown marring his brow.  
  
“I’m serious,” Anana tries to convince him, an earnest look on her face. “Really. You’re the first person I’ve met with your age and experience to even try doing something so gutsy.” After a pause, she adds, “Actually, a lot of people older than you probably wouldn’t have tried that, either.”  
  
There is a note of respect in Anana’s voice. Noatak flicks off the last drops of water out of his hair and reties his ponytail as he mulls this over.  
  
“I see potential in you,” Anana nods almost to herself, a strange glint in her eye. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks Noatak up and down as if she’s seeing him for the first time.  
  
“Yeah,” she nods again. “I have a good feeling about you.” She places a hand on his shoulder and grins ferociously. “So, same place, same time tomorrow, yeah?”


	9. 1.8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noatak, flatly: Anana's ok I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankfully I've gotten really into writing TVITS again, so hopefully the chapters will be coming out more regularly for at least a little while (although finals are coming up ... haha ...). Additionally, I've been considering posting the chapters on fanfiction.net as well. I didn't do this at first because I already had the first (incomplete) version of TVITS there from a couple of years ago, and in an effort to separate the two versions a bit, I uploaded the newer version here. But, if I do, I'll let you guys know, so if you find FF more convenient for yourself for whatever reason, you can start reading TVITS there, as well.   
> And, as usual, you may contact me here or on my Tumblr, thelordwrites. I hope you enjoy!

Noatak finds hotel menial work surprisingly rewarding. Sure, there is no great excitement in washing dishes or taking out the dirty towels and linens from bedrooms, and there are often guests that don’t tip or those that are straight up rude because they think they have to right to be, but the repetition relaxes him. Every day, he gets up early in the morning, prepares for the day, and goes out the door knowing what to expect and not being afraid of what’s ahead of him. And there is something to be said about seeing a clean room after a hard day’s work. It is the first time, perhaps, that Noatak has seen some real positive outcomes from genuine hard work.

And as it turns out, the majority of the staff are waterbenders, just as Qannik had told Noatak. And it seems that Anana is unnaturally popular amongst them, because as soon as they hear he is being taught by her, they immediately ask for the details.

“Has she made you fight her yet?” is one of the first questions, and surprised by the accuracy, Noatak replies, “Yes, actually.”

That earns him a hearty laugh through the kitchen.

“And you lost, I imagine?” one of the cooks asks, a wide grin on her face. Noatak ducks his head and pouts at the dishwater at his hands.

“Don’t feel too bad, Noatak,” another pats him on the shoulder. “That girl doesn’t know a thing about restraint. You haven’t had training, you said? Typical of her to go all out on a kid that doesn’t know how to fight yet.”

“I’m not helpless,” Noatak finds himself insisting.

“We’re not saying you are,” the first cook laughs a little again and waves a hand. “It’s just that Anana always has to win. _Always_.” On afterthought, she adds, “Although, this is the first time I’ve heard of her ever agreeing to take on a student.”

“Which means you must not be completely useless, huh kid?” a voice from the back reaches him, and the kitchen chuckles their agreement. Noatak goes back to washing his dishes, uncomfortable with the attention.

But when he sees Anana that evening, he asks, “Anana, have you ever had a student before?”

“That’s Master Anana to you,” Anana corrects him cheekily. “Why do you ask?”

“I just heard it from the kitchen staff.”

“Those losers,” Anana laughs. Noatak raises his eyebrows a little. They are all, after all, her seniors.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Anana rolls her eyes. “I’ve known them since I was a baby. Anyways, yeah, they’re right; I’ve never had a student before.”

“But they said this is the first time you’ve _agreed_ to have a student before.”

“What’s your point Noatak?”

Noatak hesitates for a moment. “Am I…I mean, what made me special?”

Anana grins in that savage way Noatak had been afraid of. “What makes you think you’re special?”

“Forget it,” Noatak waves his hand, immediately dismissing the conversation. “Let’s get to the lesson.”

But Anana sits on the ground and pats the patch of snow in front of her, a wide, toothy smile on her face. “No, sit. The conversation was just getting interesting.”

Noatak heaves a defeated sigh and sits where he is invited with a sour expression.

“You think that just because you’re my first student that you’re special or something?” Anana asks him, her eyes glittering wickedly.

“I just assumed, from the way they said it…” Noatak glares at the ground, but he can tell Anana is just on the precipice of laughter.

”You’re right, you’re the first student I’ve ever taken on, because all the other ones were cheeky little shits that thought they deserved the best because _they_ were the best,” Anana snorts. “Maybe if you think you’re so special, I should turn you down, too. Clearly I was wrong about you.”

At this, Noatak jumps up at stares at her imploringly. “Wait—that’s not what I meant at all. Please, I was just curious. I won’t ask about it again, I swear. Just—”

Noatak is cut off by Anana’s howls of laughter, which is when he knows he has been tricked.

 _Spirits_ , Noatak scowls as he collapses back onto the ground.

“Ah, Spirits,” Anana sighs between her hiccups, “you should’ve seen your face. _Classic_.”

“Great,” Noatak says moodily, but that only makes Anana laugh harder.

“I’m glad I’m such an entertaining source for you,” Noatak snaps at her. “I guess I know why you keep me around, _Master_ Anana.”

At his sharp tone, Anana abruptly stops laughing and her expression turns intimidating.

“Excuse me?” Anana frowns at him, as if she’s not sure what he’s just said, and Noatak can tell he’s made a mistake.

But he holds his ground. “I’m just saying,” Noatak says, “why do you get to make fun of me and everything, and why do I just have to take it? How is that fair?”

“Fair?” Anana scoffs. “You’re talking about fair?” She leans in, arms crossed, a sneer on her face. “Kid, life isn’t fair. Sorry I hurt your feelings a little just so that you can learn that.” She sits back and sighs a little at the sky, the grimace replaced by a contemplative frown. “It was just a joke. Take it easy, Noatak.”

Noatak stares. He is not sure what to make of Anana’s quick, unpredictable mood swings, but he decides to take this as an opportunity to have a cordial conversation.

“I don’t like jokes that are made at my expense,” Noatak says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Anana smiles at him. “Noatak, all jokes will be made at someone’s expense.”

Noatak frowns a little at that. That didn’t seem reasonable at all.

“As for your question,” Anana sighs a little, “like I said, the other kids and their parents that came to me came only because they knew what I was.”

“What you were?”

Anana grins and leans in to conspiratorially whisper, “A _genius_.”

Noatak cannot help the snort that comes out of him, but this time Anana doesn’t seem to mind the rudeness. She smiles from ear to ear and proclaims, “I am the best waterbender in the entire capital!”

“That’s a pretty big statement.”

Anana leans on her hand and considers Noatak. “Not when it’s _true_.”

Noatak cannot help but return Anana’s smile. “Alright, you’re a genius. You’re the best waterbender in the entire city. Wouldn’t it make sense for everyone else to want you to teach their children?”

“Definitely,” Anana agrees. “I never said that it didn’t make sense. It makes perfect sense. It’s the most sensible thing I’d ever experienced in my life.” Her smile dims a little, however, as she continues, “But all those kids and all their parents…I don’t know, they were missing something.” She frowns as she tries to explain this. “I don’t want to say they were missing anything like their _humanity_ , because that’s saying a lot—but when I spoke to them, I just didn’t feel…anything.”

“Feel anything?”

“Whenever I spoke to my master, or any of the other students that I learned with, my best friends, I would feel so _excited_ about waterbending. But when I spoke to the others, it was just…” Anana spreads out her hands on either side of her in a sign of helplessness. “Nothing. Dead.”

“Passion. They didn’t have passion.”

Anana claps her hands together and points at Noatak. “That’s the word. What a smart kid.”

Noatak is not fazed by the somewhat condescending compliment. “So, when you spoke to me, you felt passion?”

“More than that,” Anana smiles mysteriously. “I’ve got a good sense of you while we were fighting, Noatak.”

Noatak feels his heart skip a beat, even though rationally he knows there is no way Anana could just _tell_ he is a bloodbender—is there? He has never witnessed any other waterbending style other than advanced bloodbending. Perhaps there is something in his movements that give him away?

“Sense of what?” Noatak asks in the most politely curious way he can.

“Well, telling you that would ruin the secret,” Anana chuckles. She rises and extends a hand to help Noatak up. “The master says it’s time for training! Enough gossiping; that’s not what I’m here for.”

Noatak hangs his head momentarily with a heavy sigh, but there is very little he can do when Anana has made up her mind.

“Do you remember the exercises from yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Obediently, Noatak falls into position, and the lesson progresses as usual. The rhythm of it all soothes him, even though the movements themselves aren’t strenuous. Perhaps Anana expects him to complain, as other people Noatak’s age might, but honestly, he finds the calm, reserved movements a welcome change to the hard, rigorous training he had to go through with his father.

As he pulls the water through the air, his mind drifts, muscle memory leading his hands even after less than a week of instruction. He did not mind this place, really. He likes it, even (although not as much as he did with Naruq, Etka, and Onartak, in their small bar and inn on the coast). He is not rich, nor does he have many privileges as some do here (the wage gap is almost astounding, but he supposes it is inevitable, in large cities), but in the Capital, being a waterbender is enough—although he wonders where the places are for the nonbenders in this city.

 _Qannik doesn’t seem to mind_ , Noatak thinks to himself dully.

His thoughts are interrupted, then, with a cold splash of water to his head. Noatak flinches and gasps as he shakes himself off and bends the water out of his hair.

“Focus,” Anana chastises him, and Noatak doesn’t even bother making an excuse. Anana always knew when he is lying.

“Again,” Anana nods to him, and Noatak slips back into formation to do the exercise again and again to Anana’s satisfaction.

“Good,” she finally says as dusk falls in the Capital. She pats a hand on his shoulder and smiles a little to herself. “Really good.”

Noatak’s eyes widen a little at this unexpected praise, but Anana gives a pleasant, cheeky wave and exits the courtyard before Noatak can say anything.

As it turns out, Noatak does not hear Anana say anything close to that level of approval for the next half year. Six months pass under her instruction, the lessons becoming increasingly rigorous. Noatak goes to bed with aching muscles and wakes up with cramps everywhere, but he does not complain—at least, not outwardly. But that doesn’t stop a couple of the inn’s staff to smile sympathetically and give him a couple more breaks than usual that day, or slip him some juice and snacks on the house when they could.

 _Everyone’s on my side_ , Noatak thinks to himself one day as he collapses onto his bed, exhausted. The thought is comforting, to say the least, although, as always, the little voice in his head hisses to him, _You think they would if they knew you were a bloodbender?_

Winter slips by into spring, then summer, and before Noatak realizes it, his birthday has already long passed. He pauses at the top of the stairs, a pile of dirty blankets in his arms, as he realizes he is now sixteen. But this year, there is no party, there is no celebration, there is no miniature feast his mother always made (but always smaller, somehow, in comparison to Tarrlok). No little brother grinning at him while shoving a small, badly wrapped gift into his hand.

Noatak shakes his head, getting rid of the cobwebs of memories clinging to him, and gets back to work.

And, after six months, Noatak walks into the courtyard, rolling his shoulders, expecting another hard day of training to strain is already aching muscles, to find Anana is sitting on the ground, a small folding table set up in front of her with a modest tea set.

“Hey,” she smiles at him. “Sit down. Tea?”

“Uh,” Noatak blinks. “Yeah. Yes, please.” He sits down in front of Anana and considers asking what this is about, but he knows she will tell him in her own time if she wants to. Six months with her has already told him more than enough times Anana never does anything she doesn’t want to.

“Thank you,” Noatak says as Anana pours him a cup of tea. He takes his cup and raises it, mirroring Anana’s actions, before taking a sip. It’s hot, but not scalding, and he can feel the hot liquid flow down his neck and chest, warming him from the inside out.

“It’s been about half a year since I started teaching you, huh?” Anana finally begins speaking.

“Yes.”

“You’ve improved a lot since we first met,” Anana smiles.

“Thank you,” Noatak inclines his head. Coming from Anana, who never gives out praise without good reason, it means a lot.

Anana inhales and exhales as she considers Noatak, perhaps thinking about what she wants to say next. There is a serious expression on her face that almost makes Noatak nervous. He sips on his tea absentmindedly, trying to act as if her stare isn’t making him squirm.

“Is something wrong?” Noatak asks at last when the silence extends well past a minute and his teacup is almost empty from his anxious sipping.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Anana shakes her head. “Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

 _That’s unusual_. Usually Anana always focuses on the task at hand. Noatak has never known her to ever have drifting thoughts.

“Noatak,” Anana calls for his attention. “You asked me, in the beginning, if you were my first student, and if that meant you were special.”

“I remember.”

“I didn’t tell you back then, because I didn’t want it to get to your head, and I wasn’t sure if I was completely right, still, but now I think—no, I _know_ —I’m right.” She props her chin on one hand and smiles at Noatak, whose heart is pounding. What secrets did those piercing eyes see the first time they met?

“Noatak, you know I’m a good waterbender, right?”

“I think what you said once was ‘best in the Capital’ and ‘genius’,” Noatak says dryly.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all, but thank you anyway,” Anana grins. Noatak rolls his eyes.

“You trust in my opinion, though, as a waterbender, right?”

Noatak’s brow puckered. “Yes.”

Anana nods in approval. “Alright, well, don’t let this get to your head kid, but you’re honestly one of the most talented waterbenders I’ve seen in years.”

Noatak blinks. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Anana insists. “I mean, yeah, okay, your form still sucks a little, and some of the simplest stuff doesn’t come easy to you, and even things like your water whip can be improved—”

“I get it.”

“But you’re a _natural_ ,” Anana ignores his interruption. “You remind me of me, honestly—talented, but not realizing it.”

Noatak snorts. “ _You_? Didn’t know you were talented?”

Anana laughs. “Hard to imagine? Believe it or not, I was not always the humble, gregarious individual you see before you.” Noatak closes his eyes to gather his patience. Anana is a skilled waterbender, but in all other aspects Noatak is not sure how he feels about her, even to this day.

“At the time, I didn’t know what being a genius meant,” Anana continues, pretending not to notice Noatak’s moment. “I didn’t think I was anything special; I just liked waterbending. So when I was taken under my master, he really brought out the potential in me.”

She leans forward and looks Noatak straight in the eye, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “That’s what I want to do for _you_ , Noatak.”

“For me?” Noatak blinks. “You think I have that same potential?”

Anana smiles. “When I was your age, I thought the same thing. I thought my master was crazy; I never felt like some sort of genius. I felt like I was way behind everyone else who was my age, even. But he saw something in me, and he wanted to pull it out.”

Noatak frowns a little. Alright, so maybe he is alright at waterbending, but a genius? He’s not so sure. The only thing he really felt like he knew in and out was bloodbending—not that that is something to be proud of.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I guess not.”

Anana shakes her head a little and chuckles to herself. “You’re just like me, Noatak. Trust me, you’ll see.”

Anana then stands up and dusts off her hands. “Alright, that’s enough heart-to-heart. You came here for training, didn’t you?”

That briskness is the one that Noatak is familiar with. He smiles a little, rises, and bows. “At your service, Master Anana. What’s our lesson today?”

“No lesson,” Anana shakes her head. “I’ve taught you all I can.”

Noatak’s smile falters a little in surprise. “Everything? In six months?”

Anana’s grin widens in return. “Well, besides the various branches of waterbending, like healing, and something like Southern style, but I’m not really a Southern style specialist, so if you’re interested in that, you should find someone else. But, yes, you’re at the point now where you can essentially do anything you want.”

Noatak tilts his head a little in consideration. Certainly, he knows that he had learned a lot in the past few months, and he certainly _feels_ stronger, but does he really feel like he could do anything? He isn’t sure.

“Alright,” Noatak shrugs, “so, what are we doing now?”

Anana slips into a fighting position and gives a wide smile.

“Again?” Noatak sighs. “Didn’t you have enough fun beating the crap out of me the first time?”

“The first time, you sucked,” Anana points out. “This time should be different.”

Noatak sighs again and falls into a ready stance as well. “Okay, let’s go.”

That is all Anana needs to hear. With a spark of anticipation in her eye, she lifts up her hands, bending the hard packed snow off of the ground. In the same moment, it melts into water before Noatak’s eyes before Anana sharply brings down her palms and the water bursts into vapor, enveloping the courtyard.

 _Not bothering with the pots this time,_ Noatak notes dryly as he takes a small pace back. Already, he can tell how much she had been holding back the first time they had fought. His brow furrows as he tries to seek Anana out in the steam, but the vapor sticks to his skin and clouds his vision. He cannot see Anana anywhere—the entire point of the move, of course.

With a bothersome snort, Noatak puts his hands to his mouth and blows away the vapor. The steam falls away and the courtyard is filled with dry, cold air again before Noatak feels the pull of water surging behind him and a pounding heart.

He spins on the ball of his left foot and forces the torrent of water from Anana’s control and into his own. He sweeps the current away from her and creates a rushing ring around him that Anana manages to leap out of just before it closes around her. Undeterred, Noatak increases the rate the ring spins before unleashing a flurry of icicles from it. They flicker out of the ring of water at high speed, sharp and deadly, whizzing towards Anana unforgivingly.

She does not flinch. Anana raises her hands and breaks or evades every single one that comes towards her like it’s nothing. Noatak grits his teeth and sends another burst of icicles at her. This time, Anana stops them in midair and melts them into water inches from her face. The water slowly forms into a large bubble around her as she absorbs more of Noatak’s icicles until she is completely protected. The water swirls around her

With a small _huff_ , Anana thrusts her arm forward, and a tentacle stretches towards Noatak from the bubble. Noatak mimics the motion from his torrential ring, his tentacle spurred forward with rushing momentum. It crashes into Anana’s before forcing hers back and crashing down into her bubble. Anana’s mouth stretches into a disdainful frown as she rolls out of the way of Noatak’s small waterfall, breaking the boundaries of her bubble and allowing it to fall to the ground. Noatak takes advantage of the puddles on the snow by twisting his foot and creating a trail of ice that rushes towards Anana. It manages to capture her right foot and ankle before she breaks free and pulls her hand through the air in the same moment she rolls up into a crouching stance. A thin stream of water appears out of nowhere to gather in the palm of her hand. It is an advanced technique, and Noatak is surprised Anana is bothering in their small skirmish.

“Feeling nervous?” Noatak cannot help goading her a little as he stops the spin of his ring. He instead brings the water around him in eight tentacles in the classic octopus form, preparing for Anana’s next attack.

“Not at all,” she returns his smile with a savage grin.

 _She’s enjoying this_ , Noatak thinks to himself, and he is surprised he feels vague disdain. There is nothing wrong, he tells himself, for someone to enjoy a good fight once in a while, but Noatak cannot bring himself to mirror Anana’s _zeal_.

Anana wraps the water around her fingers in sharp daggers before flinging them towards Noatak. It’s a flimsy attack, and Noatak doesn’t even bother doing anything complicated in return; he sweeps his hand to the side and sends the ice daggers flying to the side to lodge themselves in the wall behind him with an audible _thunk_.

But when Noatak attempts to throw his counterattack, he finds he cannot move.

He looks at his feet and finds them iced to the ground up to his calves. Noatak goes to bend off the water from his legs when two water whips snare themselves around his arms.

“Really?” Noatak sighs at Anana, his expression no more than a little irritated.

“Problem?” Anana raises an eyebrow innocently, water whips streaming from her hands.

Noatak sighs again and glances over his body, considering his options and finding there are few when he cannot move his hands or feet to bend.

“Just say the word and I’ll let you out,” Anana crows from the opposite side of the courtyard, clearly thinking she’s won. Noatak internally rolls his eyes but does not look up, calmly assessing his situation. Unfortunately, he is coming up short, unless he can start psychically waterbending.

Of course, he can begin to psychically bloodbend, but he doubts the viability of that option.

“Alright,” Noatak concedes, “you win. Let me out now, please.”

With a smirk, Anana complies; the water whips falls from his arms, although she leaves the ice around his legs for him to bend off himself. She puts her hands on her hips and says, “Well, guess you’re not much of a master, after all.”

“Guess not,” Noatak replies blandly, melting the ice and drying himself off. Then he pulls the snow out from under Anana’s feet and ices it, causing her to stumble onto the ground. As she struggles, Noatak runs forward, one hand wrapping Anana in ice and the other hand bending snow from the ground in a scooping motion before melting and refreezing it into a deadly dagger around his hand and forearm. He leaps onto Anana’s stomach, which is covered in snow and ice, and holds the knife to her neck. She swallows instinctively as she feels the sharpness of its edge on her skin, but instead of looking frustrated or angry, like Noatak would’ve expected, she is practically pouting.

“That’s not fair,” she whines to him, and Noatak finds himself grinning.

“Life’s not fair, kid.”

Anana laughs at that, her annoyance forgotten. “Alright, alright, you win. So get off me.”

With a satisfied smile, Noatak rises. He bends the water off of her and she sits up.

“Not that it’s a real win,” Noatak snorts moodily, crossing his arms.

“Oh, calm down,” she rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t feel too bad; you did really well. You beat me, honestly.”

“Because I tricked you.”

“And?” Anana shrugs as if his excuse is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.

“So I didn’t actually beat you in skill.”

“Taking advantage of your opponent’s personality and flaws is skill too, Noatak,” Anana says seriously. “In a real battle, it’s not about beating them in skill; it’s about outsmarting them. I’d say you won fair and square.”

Noatak frowns. “But—”

“Look, Noatak,” Anana snorts a little in frustration, “you just beat your master in a one-on-one waterbending battle. You’re making it really hard to give you the win, here.”

Noatak hesitates for a moment before the reality of this sinks in, and he grins. Anana returns the expression and now stands fully. She puts an open palm on a fist, then, and bows to him, making his smile fade and his eyes widen in surprise.

“Congratulations, Noatak,” Anana says to his feet. “You have all the qualities of a true waterbending master.”

Suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude, Noatak bows back in turn. “Thank you, Master Anana.”

When they both straighten, Anana crosses her arms and says, “Well, I don’t have anything else to teach you. So I guess our lessons are done.”

“Oh,” Noatak blinks. “I guess so.”

Anana smirks. “Disappointed?”

“A little,” Noatak admits honestly, not rising to her bait. He shrugs and says, “There isn’t much for me to do anymore.”

Anana’s smile fades a little. “I guess that’s true. You don’t really have friends here, huh?”

Noatak shakes his head in the negative. Anana considers the sky for a moment before she suggests, “Well, if you want, we can still meet. Spar and everything. But like I said, there’s nothing more that I can teach you.”

“I don’t mind,” Noatak says. “That sounds fun. I’d appreciate it.”

Anana believes it. “Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Noatak agrees. As he walks out, Anana calls to him, “Make sure to tell everyone you’re a _master_!”


	10. 2.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, the classic "boy and girl get innocent dinner and get drunk together" chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys they're friends, I swear.  
> Yes I'm uploading two chapters in one day (even though this one is shorter than normal). Idk what's wrong with me either. Don't expect this please.  
> As usual, you can find me here or on my Tumblr, thelordwrites, if you need anything from me.

II. ASCENSION

Consequent lessons with Anana, as she warned him, are not educational—at least, not in terms of waterbending.

As it turns out, Anana is knowledgeable in many areas, and not just waterbending. She reveals that she is a healer, for one thing, as she accidentally injures him more than she previously intended in one of their spars another month after he was declared master by her. The sensation is interesting, to say the least; he has never been healed through waterbending before. Her hand and the water feels cool and soothing, and he can almost feel parts of his skin mending and growing and his chi flowing around the wound.

“You can’t heal?” she asks him as she’s doing this.

“Nope,” Noatak shakes his head. “Kind of sucks.”

“Don’t feel too bad about it,” Anana shrugs. “Not like everyone can. You either have it or you don’t.”

Noatak doesn’t think that sounds fair, but he knows what Anana would say about that. And, anyway, that wasn’t the reason why he thinks it sucks he cannot heal. He would not be as bothered, he thinks, if he is anything but a bloodbender, the form of waterbending that is the direct antithesis of healing: taking someone’s blood, energy, and chi and turning it against them to hurt and control rather than to relieve pain.

“Have you ever met a bloodbender?” Noatak asks suddenly, and the question makes Anana’s hand pause over his wound for a moment before she returns to finishing mending the cut.

“Sorry,” Noatak says instinctively. He is aware more than most how taboo the subject of bloodbending is.

“You didn’t offend me,” Anana shakes her head. “It’s a fair question, since we’re talking about forms of waterbending. I was just surprised; not a lot of people talk about it.”

Noatak shrugs. “Sorry.”

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” she rolls her eyes. “I don’t give a shit. Bloodbending is a thing. It’s illegal. But talking about it isn’t. It’s an illegal thing and people need to get used to that. As for your question, no, I’ve never met a bloodbender.”

“Oh.”

“Why, have you?”

“What?”

“You just sounded disappointed. I figured not ever meeting a bloodbender would be a good thing—since, you know, I assume the only way you’d ever figure out someone was a bloodbender is if they ever bloodbended you.”

That is a good point; no one would ever tell someone else they were a bloodbender. The best and only way to figure it out would be through combat.

“Once.” Obviously that is a lie; he’d met with two bloodbenders multiple times, although he wondered if his father counts since he is no longer a waterbender.

“And how’d that go for you?”

“Badly.”

“Sorry about that,” Anana says as she finishes treating Noatak’s wound. She pulls back, and Noatak inspects his upper arm. Completely healed, like new.

“Can I ask what happened?”

A shadow passes over Noatak’s face.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“No, sorry, it’s nothing. It’s just—a bad story.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Anana rises. “You done for today?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Cool,” Anana says. “Want to get dinner?”

Noatak blinks. Anana has never asked to get dinner together before. “Uh, sure.”

Anana extends a hand and helps Noatak up. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” Noatak shrugs. “Never been out before.”

“In the seven months you’ve been here, you’ve never been to a restaurant?”

“I mean, I went to one with Onartak before he left in the very beginning.”

“The guy that brought you here?” Noatak has mentioned him once or twice in passing conversations.

“Yeah.”

Anana gives a deep sigh. “So, what, you’ve just been eating shitty hotel food this entire time?”

“It’s not that bad.”

Anana takes that as a yes. She rolls her eyes, grasps Noatak’s upper arm, and drags him out. And even though in the past seven months he has grown a full head taller than her, she pulls him through the hotel and into the streets of the Capital like he is nothing but her small, personal pet. Without a word, she brings Noatak to the middle of town. There are many people here, even in the middle of the week as evening is falling, riding on gondolas through the waterways or walking across bridges with their families, friends, or partners. There is a hexagonal plaza nearby where a grand ice fountain sits, its water sparkling under the light of the lanterns strung above it and the lamps posted at the vertices. There are large buildings surrounding them, their roofs and windows and walls intricately carved and made with painstaking accuracy and care. The Water Tribe insignia is branded everywhere, and the motif of waves and the moon comforts Noatak.

“Here,” Anana nods towards a building with its front doors open. Inside looks crowded and bright, and he can smell the food from across the plaza. His stomach already begins to rumble.

As they enter the restaurant, Anana hails the attention of one of the servers. “Hello! For two please!”

The server shows them to a table near the center of the restaurant. Noatak takes a seat on the chair while Anana slips into the booth seat opposite him. She doesn’t even bother with the menus, asking the server to come with two house specials and two blue Yues.

“Blue Yue?” Noatak raises an eyebrow, remembering the name of the alcoholic drink on Etka’s bar wall. The image of it and her playful smirk sent a course of nostalgia through him.

“You’ve had it?”

“Once.”

“How’d it go?”

“It’s a bad story.”

Anana grins. “Sorry about that.”

Noatak snorts and props his chin on his hand. “So, you’re paying, right?”

Anana laughs. “What?”

“You’re the older one, and the master. Isn’t it polite?”

“Hey, _you’re_ a master too. Shouldn’t you be paying as thanks to me for giving you such great instruction?”

“But you’re still older.”

“Remember how you told me you thought I was young to be a master when we first met?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And here you are, five years younger than me, and a master in your own right. Who’s young, now?”

“I’m sixteen now,” he says, even though that’s hardly the point of the exchange.

“Really?” she blinks. “When was your birthday?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t seem important.”

Anana makes a face. “I would’ve gotten you something.”

“You can pay for this meal to make up for it.”

She laughs. “Alright, alright, I got it.” Noatak gives her a grin.

“When’s your birthday?”

“The day you met me, actually.”

Noatak returns her blink. “What, so you were a master when you were nineteen?”

“Nah,” Anana waves a hand. “I was a master at eighteen.”

“Huh,” Noatak nods. “Not bad.”

“ _Not bad_?”

“Sixteen, remember?”

“Don’t think you’re some hot shit,” Anana grimaces. “You know Katara was a master at fourteen?”

“So you’re saying I’m not a genius?”

“Not as much as her.”

“So you’re even less, I guess, since you mastered it even later than I did.”

Anana pouts as she finds herself roped into Noatak’s superior logic. “I liked it better when I was the master. Then I’d always be right.”

“Sucks.”

Anana gives a rueful smile at Noatak’s impassive expression propped up on his hand.

“Besides, that’s barely fair,” Noatak points out. “Katara was—is—a prodigy. The kind that’s only born once every, like, million years.”

“You think so?”

“She could waterbend like a monster, heal, _and_ bloodbend. How many people do you know that can do that?”

Anana tilts her head a little. “None, but I’ve never tried to bloodbend, so I guess my reference pool is limited,” she says with a smile. Noatak stares at her.

“Sorry,” she immediately apologizes when he clearly does not show appreciation for her quip. “Bad joke.”

Don’t you think it’s ironic?” Noatak ignores her apology. “She banned bloodbending even though she was a bloodbender, too?”

Anana frowns as she considers this. To her credit, she does not immediately denounce Noatak for blasphemy, instead giving his question genuine thought. Perhaps it is because they’ve known each other for such a considerable time training together, but Noatak does not feel as nervous picking Anana’s brain about such issues.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Obviously I can’t really say, since I’m not a bloodbender and everything, but I think her being a bloodbender put her in the best situation to make it outlawed. It wasn’t from the point of view from someone ignorant, you know? If it was a regular waterbender, I guess you could say they were just afraid, or they didn’t know what they were talking about, but she’s a bloodbender. She knows better than anyone what they’re capable of. If she thought it was worth keeping legal, I think she’d have been the best person to decide.”

“But outlawing a form of bending just because a couple of people that happened to use it were evil, or bad? Or is she just treating the form of bloodbending as inherently evil? Because that doesn’t seem fair.”

“But it takes another person’s free will away from them,” Anana points out. “It’s more invasive than any other form of bending.”

“What about the Avatar energybending?” Noatak counters. “He reached into the previous Fire Lord Ozai and the bloodbender Yakone and just took away their bending like it was nothing.”

“That’s Avatar stuff,” Anana puts up a hand. “We’re not going to argue that shit; it’s beyond me or you. Besides, you know as well as I do that he was doing the world a favor.” The flat matter-of-factness of her tone makes him twitch a little. Logically, he knows she is right, particularly considering the Avatar could have just as easily killed Ozai and his father, but it _is_ his father they are discussing.

 _But you don’t owe him anything_.

“What’s with all this bloodbending talk?” Anana asks.

Noatak shrugs noncommittally. “Just curious. No one ever talks about it, that’s all. Not like I had a lot of exposure to waterbending-related stuff for my entire life.” The lie came through easily.

Anana considers him for a moment and looks as if she wants to say something, but thankfully, at that moment, the food arrives. Two bowls of green noodles are placed in front of them along with an array of shellfish and vegetable sides.

“Use the octopus-squid ink sauce,” Anana tells him excitedly, her previous question forgotten, as she pushes a small bowl of blank liquid towards him. She uses another one to cover her own noodles.

“Have you ever had this before?”

“My mother made something similar when we were younger,” Noatak admits absentmindedly as he takes his first bite. It is both achingly familiar and vastly better tasting than what his mother ever made.

“Better or worse?”

“Better.”

Anana laughs. “Damn, that’s cold.”

Noatak shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about your mom,” Anana comments lightly. “Were you guys close?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, so your dad, then?”

Noatak makes a face. “Closer to him than with my mother, I guess, but I wasn’t very close to him, either.” He struggles not to heave around his noodles.

“So you didn’t have anyone?”

“My younger brother.”

“Oh, you have siblings?” She sounds genuinely surprised.

“What?”

“Nothing, you just seem like an only child,” Anana half-smiles. “I can’t imagine a mini you.”

“He’s not really a mini me,” Noatak says into his noodles, avoiding Anana’s eyes. “He’s a lot… _brighter_ than me, I guess you could say.”

“Is he a waterbender, too?”

A cold stab pierces Noatak’s heart. “Yeah, he is.”

“Maybe I’ll teach him too, one day,” Anana jokes. It’s a harmless suggestion, but Noatak says sharply, “I doubt it. I don’t see why he’d ever come here.”

Anana blinks but doesn’t comment on Noatak’s outburst. Instead she takes a few silent mouthfuls of her noodles.

“Sorry,” Noatak finally mutters. “My family’s…complicated.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Anana says dryly, but she doesn’t sound angry. “It’s fine, it’s none of my business.”

She’s right, it isn’t, but Noatak still feels guilty. She couldn’t have known how sensitive the topic would be for Noatak, and it isn’t fair for him to lash out at her like that.

“What about your family?” Noatak asks, rerouting the conversation as best he can. “I mean, I know about Qannik, obviously, but what about your mother?”

“My mom died,” Anana smiles wanly. “I was eight.”

“Oh.” He adds on afterthought, “Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” she waves it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Two blue Yues?” the server interrupts their conversation, placing two glasses of familiar ocean blue in front of them.

“Thanks,” Anana smiles before lifting a glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Noatak returns the sentiment, and he takes a modest swig before making a face. It’s bitterer than he remembered; Etka’s was far smoother.

“Not your style?”

“Not as good as the one I had before.”

Anana laughs. “Sucks.”

Noatak takes another sip before returning to his noodles with a grimace.

“But you like the noodles?” Anana asks hopefully, and Noatak grunts his approval. Anana smiles in satisfaction.

“That’s good; they’re my favorite dish here.”

The pair of them finish their meal, then, with harmless conversation: waterbending forms, their favorite types of fish, their opinions on the kitchen staff, and what life was like before they met. Or, rather, Anana speaks about her life, and Noatak indulges in her vanity by continuing to ask questions about her multitude of accomplishments—which, to be fair, are many and quite extensive.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Noatak?” Anana suddenly changes the topic as they take a pause to finish their blue Yues. Noatak nearly chokes on his.

“What?”

“Or a boyfriend,” Anana amends quickly.

“You’re asking about my dating history?”

“I’m just wondering,” Anana sniffs. “Calm down.”

“No, I’ve never had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.”

“Hm,” she says into the rim of her glass, and this sends a flare of irritation through Noatak.

“Why,” he asks with perhaps more venom than is necessary, “have you?”

“Once or twice.”

“And how did those go?”

“Got bored,” Anana smiles that wolf’s smile. Noatak rolls his eyes.

“What will you be doing from now on, Noatak?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, now you’re a waterbending master. Are you just going to work at a hotel for the rest of your life?”

Noatak tilts his head before admitting uneasily, “Actually, I wasn’t planning on staying this long here.”

Anana blinks. “Oh, really? What made you stay?”

Noatak sets down his glass. “Your excellent teaching, of course.”

Anana laughs.

“So, what, you’re going to be leaving us?”

“I guess I should.” Although, after seven months without hearing a peep about his father, Noatak cannot help but feel a sense of comfort in this place. It isn’t bad here, really, and after almost a year, is it really likely his father is still looking for him?

 _Don’t get complacent_.

“Why do you keep running around?”

“Like I said, my family’s complicated.”

Anana’s expression is unreadable, but she doesn’t press the matter.

After Anana pays, as promised, she leads them out to the plaza back to the hotel, an arm linked in Noatak’s. The familiarity is surprising but not unwelcome. Probably because he’s half buzzed.

Anana drops Noatak off at his room with a smile, her face perhaps a bit more flushed than when the night started. “Well, goodnight, Noatak. Happy birthday.”

“Goodnight,” Noatak puts up a hand in goodbye before departing into his room.


	11. 2.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noatak finally says fuck this place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm sincerely sorry about the wait; there've been a lot of things happening in my life that required my attention -- despite my wishes. However, rest assured I remain very motivated to see this work through, no matter how long it takes. However, I can no longer promise regular updates. Unfortunately, my current situation will not allow me to for quite some time. I apologize for this, but I hope you'll remain patient with me. 
> 
> I've also noticed that my chapters always seem to end with someone saying goodbye lately. It's not on purpose, believe me. I'll try to add some variety the next couple of chapters (which I think won't be a problem -- hopefully). 
> 
> As usual, you may contact me at my writing blog, thelordwrites.tumblr.com, or here, if you have any comments / concerns. I hope you enjoy!

About two weeks after their late night escapade, Noatak walks into the courtyard to find Anana sitting with her eyes closed, legs crossed, and her hands in fists and brought together at their knuckles.

“Anana?”

His former master opens her eyes and turns around at the sound of her name, and her expression brightens as she realizes who it is.

“Noatak,” she greets him, sounding genuinely glad to see him.

“What are you doing?”

“Meditating.”

“Obviously,” Noatak snorts. “But I’ve never seen you meditate before.”

“So, a friend of mine was telling me about these things called chakras, and I thought I’d try it out.”

“‘Chakras’?” Noatak repeats incredulously, stepping forward and joining Anana on the ground.

“Yeah, apparently you need to unlock all of them, and if you do, you become enlightened and all that shit. It’s what Avatar Aang used to unlock his Avatar State.”

“Enlightened,” Noatak echoes Anana again, and she frowns at him.

“Yes, enlightened.”

“And shit.”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

“If all you say is stupid stuff.”

“How is being enlightened stupid?”

“It isn’t, it’s just that ‘enlightened’ and ‘Anana’ in the same sentence is stupid.”

Anana sniffs. “What, you don’t think I can be _enlightened_?”

“Don’t you mean enlightened _and shit_?”

Anana rolls her eyes.

“Who’s your friend?” Noatak changes the subject.

“A guy named Tonrar,” Anana answers. “We were taught under the same master. He left the Capital for a while, but he’s back now, so we’re catching up.” There is a fondness in Anana’s eyes when she speaks of him, and Noatak feels a strange stab of jealousy that he quickly banishes. Anana is, of course, allowed to have more than just himself in her life.

“That sounds nice,” Noatak says politely. “Where did he learn about this chakra stuff?”

“Something about a library in the Earth Kingdom.”

“That’s not very exciting.”

“I know, right?”

“What did he teach you?”

Anana settles back into her meditating position and motions Noatak to do the same. “There’re seven chakras, and each one is blocked by something special. I don’t know the details, but—”

“You were trying to unlock them without knowing anything about them?”

“What, early practice can’t hurt, right?” Anana sniffs again, and Noatak chuckles.

“I guess you’re not wrong.”

“There are seven chakras,” says Anana, “I forgot the other three, but the first four were easy to remember. They’re named earth, fire, air, and water.” Anana waggles her eyebrows. “Pretty classic, huh?”

“What’s the water chakra do?”

“I asked Tonrar the same thing,” Anana laughs. “He told me it’s associated with pleasure, and it’s blocked by things you’re guilty of, or what you blame yourself for.”

Noatak’s faint smile falters a little as he hears this. “I see.”

Anana’s smile becomes somewhat more somber as she recognizes the change in Noatak’s expression. “Have something you need to be guilty of, Noatak?”

“More than one,” Noatak admits.

“Well, once you, I don’t know, forgive yourself or whatever, the chakra’s supposed to open, and you’ll feel better or something like that,” Anana says matter-of-factly, and even though he knows she’s only speaking so casually to be funny and lighten the mood, Noatak laughs anyway.

“What about the other ones?”

“He didn’t have time to tell me,” Anana shrugs, “but I can ask the next time I see him if you really want to know. We’re meeting tomorrow.”

“No, that’s okay,” Noatak shakes his head. “I was just wondering.”

They sit for a moment in silence before he asks, “So are we just going to sit here and try to unlock our chakras?”

“I guess it _is_ kind of boring,” Anana frowns a little. Then she grins and her eyes bright up. “Hey, you want to fight?”

Noatak smiles—he knew this was coming—before rising and stretching. “Alright, but don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re _enlightened_ or something.”

Anana jumps up and laughs. “Come on, Noatak—since I’m enlightened, you need to try doubly hard; I’ll see you making all your moves before you make them.”

Noatak needs no more encouragement; he lunges forward with a swift, fast bullets of water following his fingers, which Anana deflects with ease before she attempts to catch Noatak off balance with a kick. He easily evades it and returns the strike with a sweep of snow at her feet, which she cuts through before sending a slice of water towards Noatak that cuts off the tips of his ponytail when he is just that slow dodging the edge.

The familiarity of the routine comforts Noatak as the pair of them enter their spar, their feet sliding across the snow and their arms raised. He can feel his heart pumping blood through his body and feel Anana’s doing the same, and remembers of their first fight, when she was hardly breaking a sweat. Now, he is giving her a run for her money, and he is reminded again that he is a master in his own right.

Could he stay here forever? Noatak thinks about this not for the first time as he ducks under a icicle flung at his head and throws a stream of water at Anana, grasping her wrist and yanking down hard. She slips for a moment before quickly regaining her balance and freezing the stream, sending the ice straight back to Noatak’s hand. He releases his bending hold on it before the ice touches his fingers and jumps backwards.

 _There’s nothing for you here,_ he thinks to himself bluntly as his feet move automatically to ready himself for another counterattack. They circle each other, like classic waterbenders, waiting for the other to make the first move. He supposes this is the one thing about waterbending matches: neither wants to ever make the first strike, but rather counterstrike. Such is waterbending. But it does make for very long lulls in the battle, and gives Noatak too much opportunity to think.

The only person he knows here, really, is Anana, and is he really satisfied with just being a hotel worker for the rest of his life? Other than Anana and Qannik’s hotel, there is nothing for him here—certainly no one waiting for him to return, or to welcome him back to a home. His home which is, in fact, a room in a hotel.

 _And you’re a_ bloodbender. _A pariah. You don’t belong_ anywhere. _You think just because you learned some new waterbending moves that changes anything?_

A hard splash of cold water catches Noatak in the chest, and with a heave, he collapses onto his back into the snow. A few unhurried footsteps later, Anana is at his side looking over him.

“You’re distracted,” she says as a statement of fact. She extends a hand to help him up, but he does not take it, instead staring at it before considering the sky. It is very clear today. Very blue.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

With an impatient snort, Anana joins him on the ground, lying on her back and putting her arms behind her head.

“Want to talk about it?”

Noatak smiles ruefully. “I feel like I’m always talking about my problems with you.”

Anana shrugs. “Whatever. We’re friends, so.”

 _So._ As if that is as good as reason anyone could give. Noatak gives Anana a hesitant glance, but she is impassively staring at the sky, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I feel like you’ve been on edge lately,” she finally speaks up again, and now she turns to look Noatak straight in the eye. He cannot meet her gaze; he goes back to sky watching.

“How so?”

“I don’t know,” Anana huffs out frustratedly. “You just—I don’t know.”

“Gee,” Noatak says, “ _enlightening_.”

“Shut up,” Anana snaps. “I’m trying to help, here.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I know that, idiot. Spirits, don’t you know when a friend’s trying to help you out? You think I’m expecting something from you? Hey, look at me.”

Noatak feels the cold tips of Anana’s mittens before her fingers grab his chin and force him to look at her and her glare. She’s leaning on her other arm and looking down on him, an uncharacteristic frown marring her features.

“What’s going on with you lately?” she presses, her blue gaze burning, searching his face for some sort of explanation.

Should he tell her? _We’re friends, so_. Now that he thinks about it, she did not react as negatively as he thought she would when he mentioned bloodbending a couple of weeks ago. Maybe she will not immediately recoil is disgust if he told her. And he just wants to tell someone so _badly_. Tell them about the things his father made him do, the sorry excuse of a mother he has, the mixed feelings he has about Tarrlok—

“I was just thinking about leaving soon,” Noatak finds himself saying before he runs away with these dangerous thoughts. And even though he swears he hears the insincerity in his own voice, Anana seems to find that explanation satisfying enough.

“That’s it?” she snorts. She falls back into her lying position and clicks her tongue. “Spirits, I thought you were contemplating your own death or something. Why is thinking about leaving making you suck at fighting?”

“I just don’t know where to go, I guess,” Noatak shrugs, feeling his heart constrict. _Say it, say it, say it_. “I’ve lived in the Water Tribes for all of my life. I don’t know the first thing about the Earth Kingdoms.”

“Who says you need to go to the Earth Kingdom?”

“I mean, no one I guess, but I guess that sounds more likely than the Fire Nation, and the Air Temples are out, obviously.”

“I meant, why can’t you just go to the next town over and come back after a while?”

“Like I said, my family’s complicated,” Noatak repeats his statement from a couple of weeks ago, and her expression becomes somewhat more serious.

“If you don’t want to go, you shouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Noatak replies flatly, and it’s true.

“Can I ask what happened?” Anana probes carefully, and Noatak’s gaze flickers over to her hesitantly, half wanting to deny her request but also wanting to fulfill it. It’s not like, after all, he’s ever had anyone to confide in – and, perhaps, he wants to be convinced to stay, despite his troubles.

Still, he remains unspecific. “Like I told you, I’m not close with my parents. Our relationship wasn’t good. My dad…has a bit of a _temper_ , I guess you can say. And I basically ran away from home,” Noatak admits uneasily. “I don’t know if he’s still looking for me, but I don’t want to stay in one place longer than I have to.”

Anana processes this for a moment before she says, “That sucks.”

Noatak grunts his agreement. It isn’t the most earth-shattering of statements, but it’s Anana, and there’s really not much else to say about it.

“But I still don’t think you should leave if you don’t want to?”

Noatak raises an eyebrow at her.

“I mean,” Anana frowns, “it sounds like your family’s influenced you your entire life. And now that you’re away from them, you shouldn’t have to maintain a life you don’t like because of them still.”

“It’s that or risk going back.”

“What, because you would just go back without a fight, huh?”

“You don’t know my father.” His tone leaves no argument on the matter, but that does not discourage Anana.

“You’re right, I don’t; if he comes here you know I’d next to drown him if you asked me to.”

Surprised, Noatak asks, “You would?”

“Of course I would,” Anana says, apparently equally surprised. “You’re my friend.”

“Didn’t think we were _that_ close,” Noatak mutters almost to himself as he settles deeper into his lying position and glares at the sky, frustrated at the turn in the conversation.

There is a moment of silence before Anana quietly confides, “For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to go.”

Noatak turns back onto his other side to stare at Anana. She shrugs uncomfortably underneath his gaze as she says, “This is your home. And you’re my friend. So.”

 _So._ He’s not sure what to say to this, so he just clears his throat and says, “Okay. Thanks.”

There is another gap of awkward silence where Noatak feels obligated to fill; Anana has been honest with him, so isn’t it fair he’s honest with her?

But the heart-aching fear she will no longer want him to stay after she learns he is a bloodbender still sticks with him. This friendship they share, their companionship, her obvious investment in Noatak’s wellbeing, is all based around the fact that they are both waterbenders. Comrades in arms, a master and her former student, now a master himself. But he isn’t _just_ a waterbender. He’s a bloodbender, and it is a shame that he has to carry his entire life, and one he isn’t sure Anana would just look over as if it is nothing. After all, wouldn’t it perverse their entire relationship? Give her the realization that he can reach into her veins whenever he wants and tug her whichever he wants whenever he feels like? She would reject him, at the very least. Ostracize him, more likely. Look at him with disgust and send him away. And while she deserves the truth, Noatak cannot bring himself to face this reality.

 _Coward_.

“Are you okay?” she asks at last when he doesn’t say anything, and all he can do is nod, because he feels like he’s going to throw up. Could he really stay here? Live a lie? Lie every single day to the face of the one person that values him as a person? His first friend? Could he really do that for the rest of his life, here, and forget the first fifteen years of his life like it was nothing?

(Tarrlok’s small baby face swims into Noatak’s view: wide eyed, innocent, adorable. The familiar swell of adoration bubbles up in his chest.)

How could he forget Tarrlok? It would be an insult to him. _First you abandon him and then you forget him. You think you can get away with that?_

Abruptly, Noatak stands, and Anana scrambles to follow him.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Anana frowns, stepping in front of him as he moves to leave the courtyard. She grasps his face in her gloves and forces him to look at her with an aggressively concerned expression.

“Yes,” Noatak replies flatly, practically swatting her hands away.

“You look like you’ve seen a spirit.”

“I said I’m _fine_ ,” Noatak says, his tone becoming thornier, as he shoves past her.

“Spirits, calm down.”

“I would if you’d just _leave me alone_ ,” he practically snarls at her, and Anana pauses in step to stare at him in disbelief.

“Wow, really?” she raises an irritated brow, and Noatak instantly regrets snapping at her. Why does he keep doing these _stupid_ things he feels guilty about later?

“Okay, sure, whatever,” Anana puts up her hands and scoffs a little. She rolls her eyes and begins to walk backwards towards the entrance of the courtyard.

“Find me again when you’re ready to act like a fucking adult,” she calls over her shoulder as she spins on her heel. She throws a hand up in moody farewell before she disappears, leaving Noatak alone in the courtyard.

There is a sick feeling in Noatak’s stomach, but after taking a moment to think about it, he convinces himself this is good. He cannot, after all, afford to get close to anyone – not really. It was his mistake for slipping up around Anana, and if she’s upset with him, all the better. He needs to separate himself from her somehow.

He pauses in his way through the courtyard door as he thinks this over again. It’s not so bad. After all, Anana is the only reason he’s stayed here this long. But if she dislikes him – if this Tonrar is preoccupying her time – then perhaps leaving would not be so hard.

Because he _has_ to leave. That is the maddening thing. Noatak is fully, entirely, positively convinced his cannot stay here. He must keep moving. Because no matter where he goes, he cannot afford to settle. Any life he lives will be a lie, and that makes him sick to his stomach.

He slips through the doorway and wanders aimlessly to his room, his feet taking him there without his mind actually thinking about it. If people call out to him, he doesn’t hear it; he simply opens to door to his small little place he calls home and sits down on his bed, suddenly full of fatigue.

Right. This is good. He should have no problem leaving now.

Noatak continues to stare at the floor. He allows himself another few minutes of this before he shakes himself and rises.

"Pack,” he commands himself, and he begins to gather the few belongings he has: clothes, the small trinkets Naruq bought him, and the small amount of money he had, snuck over to him by hotel staff for doing extra work, even against his insistence.

“Just take it kid,” they laughed at him. “Don’t ever turn your nose at free money.”

Noatak’s chest constricts and he feels a lump in his throat as he considers the coins in his very small pouch before storing them in his pack.

There was so little in his room to begin with that when he is done, there is hardly a difference in the environment. Noatak looks around, knowing that it is not a unique room – all the rooms above, to his left, and to his right, are all the same – and it is not even his, but a wave of nostalgia courses through him regardless. This is the place, he knows, that felt like home in a very long time.

The sun is high in the sky when Noatak exits the hotel. Thankfully, he does not run into any of the staff nor Qannik. While he knows he should give notice of his leave, he couldn’t bring himself to face anyone right now. It is as if he’s a thief or a criminal running off in the middle of the night. Which, honestly, wasn’t he?

Noatak moodily trudges towards the docks, following the familiar path he’d taken with Onartak so long ago. Back then, everything was new and exciting. Now Noatak knows this place like the back of his hand, and he already needs to depart.

It’s the middle of the day, so the docks are still bustling with activity when he reaches it. This is where he hesitates – Noatak doesn’t know any of the sailors or captains here. And it occurs to him that asking for a ship ride to the Earth Kingdoms so suddenly would not be immediately fulfilled today.

And now he’s feeling very stupid standing in the middle of the docks with his bag over his shoulder, as if he’s leaving with purpose, but in reality having simply failed to create a plan because of a silly temper tantrum he had.

 _Something Tarrlok would do_ , he thinks to himself wanly – and perhaps a bit nostalgically.

He is not sure how long he is stands, rooted to his spot, at the pier, but presently, the sun sets a little bit lower into the sky, and a sharp rap on his shoulder makes him turn around at last.

“Anana,” he says in surprise as he sees the young woman behind him. She does not look pleased.

“Going to leave without saying goodbye?” she crosses her arms and furrows her brows. Noatak does not – and cannot – say anything.

“Are you mute now? Spirits, Noatak!” Anana exclaims and throws up her hands. She looks skywards, to the clouds, as if hoping there is some sign or presence up there that can grant her the patience she needs.

“I was leaving,” Noatak finally replies evasively. She practically sneers at him.

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

"I went back to the hotel, like, twenty minutes ago because I thought we should – I don’t know – _talk._ ” She said it with such discomfort that Noatak almost laughs.

“But, you weren’t there, and dad said he hadn’t seen you for a while, and no one else did either, and then I remembered you were talking about leaving, so…” Anana trails off and glares at him.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye?”

Noatak shrugs noncommittally. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“What, after one fight? Before you probably leave the Capital forever? Oh, yeah, definitely,” Anana rolls her eyes. Then, without warning, she grips Noatak’s shoulders (which looks quite comical in and of itself, as he is quite a bit taller than her) and gives him a rough shake.

“Listen, Noatak,” she says, “we’re _friends_. Friends fight, but that doesn’t mean you can just leave without telling me. You didn’t want to say goodbye to me?”

Honestly, the answer is no, but only because Noatak thought that seeing Anana would’ve tempted him to stay.

"Of course I did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to go.”

“I _don’t_. But that doesn’t mean I won’t see you off and remind you you’re being stupid.”

Despite himself, Noatak feels the corner of his lips twitch. “Thank you for that. Now I’ll remember before I leave. I get why you came now.”

Anana moodily swats his head, and Noatak chuckles a little. When he looks up, he finds Anana alarmingly close to his face.

“Anana?” he asks, making to back up, but she grasps his cheeks and glares hard into his eyes. Her look is frustrated but searching, and Noatak, not knowing what to think, stays frozen in that position, unable to do nothing but to look back.

Then she squeezes his cheeks together – hard. He lets out a disgruntled sort of noise before she releases him.

“Yeah,” she sighs and ruffles her hair a little, frowning at the ground, “you’re a weird one.” ­

There’s not much he can say in response to that. He shrugs instead. Anana snorts and puts her hands on her hips.

“Alright,” she says at last, “you’re going. I get it. You’re determined.” She puts out her hand, her expression serious. “Best of luck to you, Noatak. You’re undoubtedly the most brilliant student I’ve had. Don’t disappoint me.”

The high praise takes Noatak aback, but he clasps her hand and shakes it regardless.

“Thank you,” he says with as much sincerity he can muster.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Then, “Do you know which ship you’re taking?”

“Uh.”

“Of course.” Anana lets go of his hand and brushes past him, waving him forward. “Come on. I’ll get a ship for you.”

Surprised, Noatak jogs after to catch up before asking, “You know ships here?”

“Of course,” Anana grins. “I’m a social dragon butterfly.”

Noatak holds his tongue in favor of finding a respectable ship in a reasonable amount of time.

Anana leads him down the piers, passing multiple ships – large ships, small ships, ships with lots of cargo and some ships that only seem to carry people. They all seem like fine ships to Noatak, who knows nothing about ships, but Anana barely spares them a glance.

Eventually, she brings Noatak to a small ship – significantly smaller than the rest – with few crates on its deck and fewer people.

"Korrik!” Anana shouts towards the ship. “I’ve got a passenger for you!”

For a moment, there is no reaction from the boat – “Out to lunch?” Noatak supplies somewhat testily – but eventually a young man pokes out his head and leans over the railing of his ship.

“What’s up, Anana?” he grins down at the mater waterbender. His hair is abnormally short for a Tribe member. Half is shaved close to his head, and the other half is cropped short and falling just above his right eye. Korrik’s eyes are narrow and icy, but sparkling and mischievous in their own way. Noatak notes his physique is quite slight – or, at least, his shoulders look quite narrow underneath his parka – but reminds himself that, as a ship’s captain, he is undoubtedly well toned, at the very least. And, as he shifts his head, Noatak notes something shiny on his ears. Earrings, he assumes.

Korrik pushes out a walkway for himself and slips down towards the dock. His gait is easy and confident, and as he approaches, Noatak identifies the earrings on him: they are sharp bone, white and smooth and stark. They have been shined meticulously, and decorate the edges of his ear from the lobe to the top like a line of teeth.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Korrik asks teasingly. “I figured you’d be all over Tonrar.”

Anana punches Korrik in the arm – hard. Noatak focuses on something very fascinating along the horizon. Korrik laughs.

“Who’s this?” Korrik asks, prompting Noatak to look back at him. “He’s cute.”

Noatak feels himself blush. He goes back to looking at the horizon, but he can still feel Korrik’s curious (and appreciative) gaze on him.

“This is Noatak. He was a student of mine.”

“Oh, the genius, right?” Korrik leans around Noatak so he can look at Noatak’s face, despite Noatak’s best efforts.

“Smarts _and_ looks,” Korrik’s lips pull up and his eyes spark. “What a catch.”

“Easy, Korrik,” Anana giggles. “He’s innocent.”

“Just how I like them,” Korrik replies without missing a beat, but he relents and goes back to facing Anana. “So, what do you need?”

“I was hoping you could give Noatak a ride to the Earth Kingdoms. You’re going there today, right?”

“Going to pick up my wares in an hour,” Korrik confirms. “I’d be happy to take Noatak. I mean, not for _free_ , but I’m sure we can figure _something_ out.”

Noatak tries not to react to Korrik’s tone, even though he can feel his neck heating up underneath his collar.

“I have money,” he mutters, unable to look at Korrik in the eye.

“And he’s a good bender,” Anana supplies helpfully. “He can probably get you to the coast an hour or two faster.”

“Oh, really?” Korrik puts his chin in his hand. “Now that _does_ sound tempting.”

He thinks about it for a moment before Korrik claps his hands together. “If you’d provide your best waterbending talents, Noatak, I’d be happy to provide you passage without pay.”

Noatak blinks. “Oh.”

“He means _thank you_.”

“Thank you,” Noatak repeats Anana. “Sorry, I was just surprised. I was prepared to pay. I still will, if you want me to.”

“But I said I don’t want you to,” Korrik puts up a single, slender finger – although Noatak does not miss the calluses on it. “Your talents are enough. And if the winds are favorable, that just means I’m giving Anana’s friend a free ride. Win-win.”

Noatak frowns. “Yeah, I guess.”

Anana pops into the frame of his vision. “So, is this good?”

Noatak nods somewhat hesitantly. While Korrik’s personality is somewhat perturbing to Noatak, he is not one to turn down an essentially free trip to the Earth Kingdom.

“Thanks, Anana,” he says, and it’s clear he’s not just thanking her for setting up his passage.

“You’re welcome, Noatak,” she replies in equal severity. Korrik just smiles before departing to the ship.

“I’m leaving in probably a little less than an hour,” he tells Noatak, “so I need to prep a bit more stuff last minute, make sure the crew isn’t doing something stupid, but as long as you’re on board by then, you can do whatever until then.”

“I’ll just join you,” Noatak says. He thinks that if he remains in the Capital for any longer he will change his mind and decide to stay.

“Sure,” Korrik smiles before departing to the walkway. “Take your time, though!” he calls back, his tone suggestive.

“What does he mean by that?” Noatak frowns after him. Anana just sighs and says, “Ignore him.”

The pair of them stand in awkward silence for a moment – after all, they have already said their goodbyes, and it seems redundant to do them again – but eventually Anana hugs Noatak around his chest, and Noatak replies in (awkward) kind. He rests his arms on her shoulders and hears her sigh.

“I _will_ miss you.”

“You too,” he replies.

“But I won’t stop you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

She pulls back and looks at him for the last time, her expression serious and contemplative. “Will you visit?”

“I don’t know,” Noatak shrugs. “Probably not.”

Anana nods, as if she did not expect anything less. “Then, I guess this is it.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause, but this one is more comfortable as both of them reflect on their time together. Anana, Noatak knows, has taught him many things – things beyond waterbending – and for that he would be grateful forever, he knows.

“Don’t do anything _stupid_ ,” she says to him finally before stepping back, finally giving him permission to board.

“Don’t worry,” he smiles softly, “I’m not you.”

Anana laughs towards the sky as Noatak boards the ship.


	12. 2.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noatak has what we call "mommy issues", kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively long chapter of absolutely nothing happening, once again. Hopefully the pace is not overly frustrating for you all, but I will be trying to pick it up soon, now that we're rolling into the Earth Kingdoms.
> 
> As usual, you may contact me at my Tumblr, thelordwrites, or here. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for the continued support.

As it turns out, the winds are certainly _not_ in their favor that evening. Granted, they are not blowing against the ship – Korrik planned for that much, at least – but they are not blowing for them, either. The crew had prepared to start rowing when Korrik waved them down and pulled Noatak out of his small little cot below decks.

And now here he is, standing on the deck near the stern, pushing and pulling the ocean past them, encouraging the boat to flow forward. It is a simple exercise, one that he and Anana had done over and over since the beginnings of their lessons, but in the middle of the expansive ocean, by himself, Noatak finds there is a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and on his neck. He grits his teeth and remembers to breathe. This is what he agreed to, after all.

Korrik, at least, is entertained. He is sitting directly in front of Noatak, apparently content to watch the waterbender struggle to pull his (admittedly) small ship to the Earth Kingdoms.

“How old are you, Noatak?” Korrik makes small talk, and Noatak gives a long sigh to maintain his focus before replying flatly, “Sixteen.”

“Ah, so young,” Korrik smiles. “I’m eighteen, myself.”

 _Cool_ , Noatak thinks to himself waspishly. Again, he agreed to do this – but that does not mean he has to enjoy it, and he did not think he would have to entertain the ship’s captain at the same time.

“Shouldn’t you be steering?” he asks as politely as possible, in a vain attempt to get rid of Korrik. He seems to see right through it, however, because he grins and says, “Xuan’s got it.”

“Xuan?”

“First mate,” Korrik supplies. “From the Earth Kingdoms.”

There is another lull in the conversation before Korrik says, “I bet you’re wondering how an eighteen year old became the captain of a ship, hm?”

Admittedly, Noatak had been thinking about it, but he also had not been eager to restart a discussion. But Korrik continues without waiting for Noatak’s answer.

“So, there I am, a ripe boy of fourteen, finding my way in the world,” Korrik begins, his eyes glinting as he pushes one gloved hand forward to demonstrate the grandeur. “My parents have all but abandoned me, my friends have turned their backs to me, and all I have left are my own wits and my own pride.”

Privately, Noatak wonders how much of this story is true; while he doesn’t believe anyone would lie about their parents and friends leaving them, he also has to admit Korrik is a very dramatic individual.

“I wander around the Capital, finding work where I can, food where I must, and rest when I’m able. It was a miserable three months of solitude.”

Noatak inwardly snorts. _I’m sure it was._ Noatak isn’t sure what he’d give to have solitude in his life, even if it meant not having a roof over his head. These past few months in the Capital without his family were nothing short of heavenly.

“Finally, a lone sailor finds me. He’s not much to look at, to be sure: portly, gruff, rough around the edges – not my type,” Korrik summarizes with a smirk at Noatak, who glares determinedly at the waves in front of him.

“However, he’s kind and gentle in heart, despite his appearance; he takes me in, trains me on his ship, and gives me the first real home in months. His name is Iluq, and he saved my life.” Korrik’s expression turns from adventurous to reverent. “It’s just me and him for a while, us against the sea, forging our way through the waves. Eventually, our fame spread, and we were able to purchase a larger ship – this one, in fact – and a crew, and our family grew.”

Then Korrik’s face grows somber, his smile fading. “And then, tragedy strikes.

“It was supposed to be a routine trip – a route we’d taken a million times before. But somehow, Tui and La were not with us that day. A storm hit us hard, and there was chaos all over the ship. When it was clear there was no way we were going to weather through it, Iluq told all of us to get below decks and pray to the Spirits. Screw the wares, screw the cargo – save yourselves.

“And, of course, being the stupid old man he is, Iluq stays out on the deck as long as he can, until the last crew member gets inside. And just as the last few get below…” Korrik pauses, his normally trickster eyes dimming and focusing on something in the distance.

“He didn’t make it,” Korrik finally says, dropping his gaze to the wood deck and tapping it meditatively with a long, slim finger.

“I’m sorry,” Noatak finds himself saying, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. In the wake of Korrik’s tale, he had forgotten about the ache of his limbs, the strain on his bones, and the sweat on his brow. The waves he is pulling on the sides of the ship rock uneasily, as if they, too, felt despair upon hearing Korrik’s story.

“Don’t be,” Korrik smiles up at Noatak, and rather than flirtatious, it is genuine this time. “He knew the risks. We all do.”

Then, after a pause, Korrik straightens and says grandly, “Well, of course, such a thing would not keep me down. Iluq had started this ship and this crew and brought them together, and there was no way I was going to let them die with him. I took control of this ship and its members, and we’ve been traversing these waves ever since.”

“You really care for them,” Noatak observes. “Your crew.”

Korrik’s smile is proud, now, like a father crowing about his children. “I’d give my life for them. They’re closer than friends – they’re family.”

 _I wonder what that’s like_ , Noatak thinks to himself sardonically.

“What about you, Noatak?” Korrik asks. “Any friends?”

“Not really,” Noatak replies. “Just Anana, I guess.”

“What, were you a loner when you were growing up? Painfully introverted? A shut in? Avoided human contact?” Korrik grins at him, and while he’s only joking, Noatak feels a short spark of rage that is reflected in the water: it rolls underneath them, becoming rougher and foaming a little.

“My family’s complicated” is all he says, but Korrik can tell he’s crossed a line as he quietly observes the water around them.

“I’m sorry,” Korrik says softly. “For what it’s worth, so is mine.”

Noatak breathes through his nostrils and releases his anger. The water settles down once more, and the ship returns to its easy rocking through the sea.

“Is that why you’re going to the Earth Kingdoms?” Korrik probes lightly. “Because of them?”

Noatak can tell Korrik will not mind if Noatak refuses to answer, which is why he replies flatly, “Yes.”

“Good for you,” Korrik says. “Fuck them. Find your own home, Noatak.”

Noatak blinks and looks back at Korrik, whose narrow blue eyes are deep and knowing – more intelligent than any eighteen year old’s eyes should ever be, Noatak wagers. It’s a completely different answer he had gotten from Anana.

“Thanks,” Noatak finally mutters. Korrik and he return to staring at something along the waves of the sea, the lull of the boat drifting them into silence.

“Do you know where you’re going once you get into the Earth Kingdoms?”

“I didn’t really think about it,” Noatak admits. “I guess I’ll go to one of the major cities – Ba Sing Se or Omashu.”

“Go to Republic City,” Korrik suggests, and Noatak feels his stomach turn into acid. “I heard it’s amazing. I can probably find you passage right to Yue Bay, even.”

“Thank you,” Noatak says, “but no thanks.” There is no way he will ever step foot into the same city his father left such a deep, ugly scar on.

His tone is enough to discourage Korrik, who shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

After a while, Korrik excuses himself to check in on his crew, leaving Noatak to his own devices as he continues to push and pull the water. He can’t really feel aches anymore, which he figures is a bad sign, but at the moment he’s grateful. It allows him to mindlessly bend the water without really concentrating, and it’s relaxing to not think about anything, for once.

It is when the sun finally sets when Korrik pats Noatak on the shoulder, who jerks a little in surprise. Korrik smirks at him and asks cheekily, “Is it possible to waterbend while sleeping?”

Noatak snorts and rolls his shoulders in response, trying to wake himself up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Korrik taps Noatak’s arms. “The wind’s picking up, and it’s late anyway. Go to sleep, Noatak.”

With a sigh of relief, Noatak releases his hold on the ocean and lets his arms drop.

“You found a space for yourself below, yes?”

“Yes,” Noatak nods blearily. “Good night, Korrik.”

“Good night, Noatak,” Korrik waves cheerily while Noatak stumbles below decks.

It smell like salt and musk below, and it’s dark and creaks with the motions of the ship, but Noatak is too tired to care; he collapses into his own cot near the back, far from the other members of the crew, and promptly falls asleep, dead to the world.

It feels as if he is only asleep for a few minutes, however, when Noatak is sharply jabbed awake.

“We need you above,” a gruff voice informs him – a crew member, presumably. Noatak rises a little and rubs his eyes – or tries, at least. The stiffness in his shoulders and arms say otherwise.

The crew member pays him no mind. In fact, he is already maneuvering through the cots and hammocks expertly before ascending above deck.

With a sigh, Noatak falls back and stares at the grainy ceiling above him. He is fairly certain he is literally physically unable to be of much use to Korrik today despite their agreement. Perhaps he can convince the young captain to provide some other sort of labor, for now. Something that didn’t require him to move tons of water for hours on end.

He rolls out of bed with a groan and practically falls flat on the floor with a heavy sigh. It is cold and wet and sandy, but Noatak is so fatigued he almost doesn’t care. Almost. But with a grunt, he pushes himself up and straight and stumbles above.

“There you are, sleepy head!” Korrik’s sing-song voice reaches him as soon as Noatak’s head clears the door. “I was worried you’d never come up to see me.”

Noatak just makes some sort of grumbling grunt before he rubs his face in an attempt to wake himself up. He notes how high the sun is.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Oh, probably twelve or so hours,” Korrik shrugs happily. “I wasn’t really keeping track.”

“That long?” Noatak’s voice sounds vaguely panicked.

“ _Relax_ ,” Korrik chuckles. “I didn’t need you – not for waterbending, anyway – so you wouldn’t be doing much anyway.”

“Oh,” Noatak blinks. Then, “By the way, I’m not sure if I can waterbend very well right now; I’m really stiff from last night –”

“Oh, I didn’t call you up here to waterbend,” Korrik waves a hand. “I just thought you might be hungry.”

Noatak at last notes the bowl of porridge in Korrik’s hand.

“But,” Korrik continues casually, “if you have some aches in your shoulder, I’d be happy to help you work out some of the kinks.”

Noatak looks back up at Korrik’s politely innocent expression and shuts his eyes to gather his patience – he is too tired to even feel embarrassed, now – before holding out his hand for the bowl.

“Thank you.”

Korrik’s lips curl into a smirk again before he hands over the food.

“If you need anything, I’ll be at the wheel,” he bids Noatak goodbye. Noatak nods before sitting on the deck, facing the back, and beginning to chew his food.

It is largely flavorless, with some seasoning to make it somewhat more edible than gruel, but it’s a far cry from the noodles he and Anana had shared a few weeks ago. He supposes he cannot expect much else – it’s a small ship, after all, and there is hardly room for gourmet meals and ingredients to be packed around. He distracts himself from the taste by watching the ripples the ship leaves behind disappear into the horizon.

When his corresponding wooden spoon finally scrapes the bottom of the empty bowl, Noatak rises, feeling refreshed and in a significantly better mood now that he’s had something to eat – even though that something was basically glorified rice water. He walks towards the front of the boat to find Korrik, weaving in and out of the crewmembers who were maintaining the ship. Noatak notes there seems to be an equal number of men and women in the crew, which he is not sure if he should be surprised by or not. Whenever he thinks of a hardened crew, the members are all men. But for some reason, Noatak does not think Korrik is one to turn away capable sailors because of something like gender.

He tries not to be too much of a hindrance as he stumbles through the ropes and crates all over the deck. He ducks underneath lines and sidesteps men and women transferring crates to the other side of the ship. He mumbles his apologies as he bumps into people – again. And again. And once more.

For such a small ship, his adventure through it seems to take an age. When he finally appears on the other end, he sees Korrik leaning on a rail, chatting happily with the individual at the steering wheel. Noatak climbs up the step towards them and taps Korrik on the shoulder.

“Noatak!” Korrik exclaims in the middle of whatever story he had been telling. He throws up his hands in joy. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was just wondering what I should do with these,” Noatak says apologetically, lifting the bowl and spoon.

“Oh, the kitchens are below. You can put it there. But – wait, wait! I want to introduce you.” Korrik nods towards the man steering the wheel, who gives Noatak a glance and a polite nod.

“Ela!” Korrik calls over Noatak’s shoulder, and he looks back to see a woman’s face look up at her captain’s call.

“You’re on your way below, right? Could you also bring Noatak’s bowl down, while you’re at it?”

Noatak feels himself blush. “Oh – no, I can do it. They’re my own dishes…”

But Ela doesn’t seem to mind; she nods and climbs up the stairs and holds out her hand expectantly. Noatak blinks, swallows uncomfortably, and places the bowl and spoon in her waiting palm.

“Thank you,” he says, because he did not expect he would have the entire crew cleaning up after him. Noatak does not want to be treated like some honored guest – he didn’t even pay for passage. He is providing labor, just like everyone else here. It does not feel right that he is treated differently than any other.

Ela only nods before turning and disappearing among the jungle of activity.

“Now, Noatak,” Korrik calls for his attention again, oblivious to his discomfort. Noatak turns to see Korrik swing an arm across the other man’s shoulders across the front of his neck.

“This is Xuan,” Korrik introduces the crewmember cheerily, presenting him proudly. He’s dressed in Water Tribe attire, but Noatak can tell he’s squarely built and well-muscled, and his skin is fairer than that of Korrik and Noatak’s, as is typical for many Earth Kingdom members. His hair is long and not tied back like it would be for many Water Tribe members. Instead, it hangs loose around his shoulders, the fine strands tangling in the sea breeze, with a headband around his forehead, like a circlet, to keep the hair somewhat out of his face. When he looks back at Noatak to give him a small, acknowledging smile, he notes there is a small moustache above his upper lip.

“Nice to meet you,” Noatak bows politely.

“You too,” Xuan replies, his voice pleasantly resonant.

“And before you say anything,” Korrik interrupts them, a sly smile on his face, “he’s _taken_.” Korrik props his chin on Xuan’s shoulder and presses his cheek into the other’s.

“Oh, gee,” Noatak replies after a moment, “what a shame.”

Xuan smiles apologetically. “Sorry, Korrik’s just like that.”

“I introduce him to everyone that comes onto the ship for the first time,” Korrik announces proudly. He turns to face Xuan and grins. “A captain’s nothing without his first mate.” He gives Xuan a quick peck on the lips, a happy, giddy glow about him, and Xuan smiles softly back. One of few words, that one is. But Noatak figures that, with Korrik as a boyfriend, it balanced out quite well.

Despite feeling very much like a third wheel, Notak smiles. He is no stranger to seeing love first hand – in the early years, before his father knew he was a waterbender, his mother and father were practically smitten with each other. They smiled at each other whenever their eyes met, they laughed a lot, and whenever Noatak was near, he was showered with love, as well. It was so clear they were in love, Noatak still wasn’t sure how it all turned sour – how much a man’s greed for revenge spoiled something so clearly good.

But seeing Korrik’s clear pride in having Xuan as a boyfriend improves Noatak’s mood. He must love him a lot, to go out of his way to introduce Noatak to Xuan.

 _Wants to show him off_ , Noatak thinks to himself, amused.

“We should be at the Earth Kingdoms near the end of the week, Noatak,” Xuan says, leaning away from Korrik a little so he can grace Noatak with the dignity of a full conversation. “Thanks for your help yesterday. It was great.”

“It’s not a problem,” Noatak replies instantly. “It’s the least I can do.” Then, on afterthought, he adds, “You don’t have any waterbenders on the ship?”

Korrik shrugs. “Nah. Every waterbender I meet always says something the lines of ‘putting their bending to actual use’ rather than being a ‘glorified motor’.” He grins easily, but Noatak frowns a little.

“We have some earthbenders,” Xuan adds.

“Earthbenders?” Noatak blinks in surprise. “On a ship?”

Xuan smiles softly. “Yes. It took them a while to get used to it.”

“Including him!” Korrik laughs, wrestling Xuan a little with the arm still around the other’s shoulders. “He was seasick for the entire first week he was here!”

“It’s a wonder I stayed,” Xuan agrees.

“Well, not _that_ much of a wonder, right?” Korrik raises his eyebrows suggestively, but Xuan just keeps his kind smile on Noatak.

“A wonder,” Xuan repeats serenely. Noatak holds back his snort. Korrik pouts.

“What takes you to the Earth Kingdoms, Noatak?” Xuan continues polite conversation. Despite the innocent question, however, Noatak scrambles to find an excuse.

“Just – sightseeing,” Noatak says lamely. Korrik lets out a “Ha!” of disbelief.

“Sorry,” he says around the hand covering his mouth. “It’s just that was such a bad lie it sounded like you didn’t believe it, either.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Xuan says reassuringly. “I was just wondering.”

“Thanks,” Noatak nods and narrows his eyes at Korrik, who is still laughing. “What a nice guy you are.”

“He makes up for both of us,” Korrik agrees unabashedly.

“Korrik, I’m pretty sure Kana was looking for you earlier,” Xuan interrupts him. “Why don’t you go find her?”

With a smirk, Korrik plants one more kiss on Xuan’s cheek before maneuvering himself around Noatak and going down the stairs.

“Sorry about him,” Xuan apologizes, his eyebrow quirking a little. “He’s a good person once you get to know him.”

If a nice guy like Xuan can say that, Noatak supposes it must be true.

“If you say so,” Noatak replies flatly.

“I’m sorry again if I offended you,” he continues. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s okay,” Noatak waves his hand. “It’s not like it’s a bad question. My reasons are kind of hard to explain, though.”

Xuan nods. “Of course. I understand.”

The pair of them lapse into comfortable silence after a moment, where they watch the never ending sea and sky meet at the horizon. Soft waves pass them by with quiet splashes. Noatak closes his eyes and inhales the smell of salt and the feeling of the water surrounding him.

“What’s it feel like?” Xuan interrupts Noatak’s thoughts, and Noatak starts and turns towards him.

“What does what feel like?”

“The ocean. Being a waterbender.”

“Oh.” Noatak blinks and turns back to the water. He frowns, “It’s hard to explain.”

Xuan smiles knowingly. “When I first came onto a ship, I thought I would faint.” He laughs at Noatak’s expression. “It felt so _wrong_. I’m so used to feeling solid wherever I walked. The earth was comforting. It didn’t change, it didn’t move, it just _was_ , you know? I could depend on it to be the same all the time.”

“That’s kind of funny,” Noatak laughs a little. “I think the same thing about water. Even though it doesn’t stay still like earth does, it pushes and pulls. It’s the same rhythm all the time, no matter what. The sea is always here for me.”

“Exactly,” Xuan nods. “But on a boat, I just couldn’t find my footing. I was always confident and steady on my feet whenever I was on land, but at sea, I felt so disconnected from my element.” Xuan pauses and adds, “Korrik thinks still it was just bad sea sickness, but honestly it was more than that. For the first time, I wasn’t around earth.”

Noatak tries to think about what it’d be like to not be around snow or water or ice and shakes his head. He can’t even begin to imagine it.

“I honestly thought about not joining the crew because of it,” Xuan confides quietly. “I’ve never felt so less like myself before.”

“So why’d you stay?”

Xuan smiles. “Why do you think?”

Somewhere, in the background, they hear Korrik’s mischievous laugh ring through the air. Noatak and Xuan’s eyes meet and they chuckle to themselves.

“I told myself I’d stick it out for a few days, and if it really didn’t improve, then I would settle for a long distance relationship. At least, that’s what I told myself, but I don’t think a long distance relationship would’ve worked out with Korrik.”

Noatak, privately, could see why. While he is sure Korrik is a perfectly loyal boyfriend, it cannot be denied he is flirtatious and playful. Long periods of time without seeing Xuan may have put a strain on the relationship without him even meaning to.

“Thankfully, I got used to it – mostly,” Xuan shrugs. “But I make sure we stay on land more often than we used to. The other earthbenders on board thank me for it, though.”

“What’s earthbending like?” Noatak asks suddenly, his interest piqued.

“Earthbending?” Xuan pauses as he thinks about it, considering the skyline.

“It’s steady,” Xuan finally decides. “When you’re earthbending, you feel strong – and not just in a physical sense. Like nothing can move you. The movements are hard and decisive, because there’s no room for hesitation in earthbending. Waterbending is all about moving around, right? And making the enemy’s offense into your own defense?”

Noatak nods.

“Well, earthbending is about holding your ground. It’s about having more strength of will than the other guy.”

“Like firebending?” Noatak suggests, remembering a few passing things he’d heard of the other bending forms.

“No,” Xuan shakes his head with a slight frown, “firebending is about overwhelming and intimidation. Earthbending is all about stamina. Our offense is our defense, I guess. Or our defense is our offense?” Xuan smiles and laughs. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I can get that,” Noatak agrees. “I don’t know how to explain waterbending to other people. It feels so natural I can’t imagine not having it.”

“Well, I will say that you might,” Xuan points out. “Especially when you leave the coastline, there aren’t sources of water all over the Earth Kingdoms like there are here. Obviously there’s snow and ice here, but in the Earth Kingdoms it’s all dirt or desert. A lot of waterbenders I know from inland carry water pouches with them.”

“Oh,” Noatak replies. That makes sense, and he’s frustrated he didn’t think of that before. Of course, Anana had taught him how to pull water out of the air – or tried to. Noatak knows the theory and the movements but could only ever pull a few drops from the air even in the moist and humid environment of the Spirit garden she took him to once. Although, admittedly, he was distracted for most of that time; not only was Tui and La’s movement mesmerizing in the pond, but he could only remember the legendary tale of Avatar Aang harnessing the spirit of the ocean and destroying an entire armada of Fire Nation ships in a single night. Why, if Noatak had that power, nothing would stop him from going home right now and stealing Tarrlok away. He and his brother would travel the world, whatever came in their path, because Noatak would flatten them before they even had a chance to _look_ at his little brother funny.

Except, the thing is, Noatak _has_ this power. He can make any man, woman, or child kneel to him whenever he wants.

 _You’re just a coward_.

“You’re no coward,” Naruq’s steady voice echoes in his head. “You’re a person trying to survive.”

 _So here I am,_ Noatak thinks to himself, _surviving. Meanwhile, Tarrlok…_

Noatak doesn’t even want to _think_ about what Tarrlok might be doing right now.

The rest of the day Noatak spends wandering around the deck. There is not much for him to do – mostly because he cannot do anything they want him to, not for lack of trying. Whatever task he tries, he messes things up however subtly – or, at least, enough that it slows down the regular pace of the crew. Korrik finally finds him around dusk and tells him to leave his fucking ship alone or he’ll throw Noatak off it.

So Noatak does. While the waves and wind are in their favor, Noatak contents himself to look at the passing sea. There’s not much to look at, but he enjoys the feeling, nevertheless. The closeness to it is novel for him.

The next few days pass like this. It turns out the wind is on their side for the majority of their trip, which leaves Noatak with little to do. And as much as he loves the ocean, one does go a little stir crazy on a small ship with nothing to do. He wanders around, makes small talk with Xuan once in a while at the steering wheel, wanders some more, and usually finds himself sleeping off the hours below deck, which makes for very inconvenient sleeping patterns.

Inevitably, Noatak wakes up in the middle of the night, when everyone is sleeping. It is hot below, now. They had left the North and sailed closer to the north part of the Earth Kingdoms, and while it is nowhere near as hot as the deserts would be around this time, it is warmer than Noatak is used to. With a sigh, he throws off his sweater and clambers above in his shirt and pants.

It is deliciously cool outside. Noatak sees someone that is not Xuan steering the wheel. It seems like a lonely job, steering the ship when no one else is awake. Then Noatak wonders if it is not, in fact, a relaxingly meditative time for the individual.

Unwilling to interrupt the person, Noatak goes to the back of the ship. He lies down on the deck and stares up at the stars. The sky is dark and deep here, and the stars are white and bright. Noatak feels as if he’s being rocked by the waves when he lies down on the ship like this, and he finds himself lulled into an easy sort of silence as the ship rolls along.

Lazily, he lifts up a finger and begins tracing out random shapes into the stars. A square, a circle, a polar bear dog – nonsensical, ridiculous shapes.

When they were very young, their mother taught them constellations. It was one of the few things she actually contributed to Noatak’s life – although it barely counts anymore. He forgot the shapes and the names of the constellations that she told them. They had all been replaced with harsh lessons and sickening nightmares.

Noatak had never really been interested in what was above him, anyway. But Tarrlok, predictably, loved the stars. They were bright, pretty, and sparkling, so it was really no wonder. Noatak smiles a little to himself as he traces out another shape. Tarrlok would love this, if he were here.

Noatak drops his arm to his side abruptly. He does not enjoy thinking about Tarrlok, but he enjoys thinking about his mother even less. The only thing that it does is bring this acidic feeling in his stomach and a sour taste in his mouth. He always feels a gross amount of rage and disgust towards her whenever he thinks about her too much: her blindness, her naiveté. Noatak besides, how could she not have realized something so wrong, something so inherently disturbing was happening to her favorite son? Her star? That slowly over the years the evenings held a feeling of dread and Tarrlok cringed away from their own father, and on the nights before their monthly hunting trips Tarrlok always refused to eat because he always felt sick to his stomach?

Noatak glares at the sky. _Stupid woman_. She was one of the two people he should’ve been able to trust – always, without a doubt – in this world. The other one failed terrifically. But somehow, her ignorance was worse than his father’s vindictiveness. She was supposed to protect them, no matter what. Instead, she did nothing. Knew nothing. Sensed nothing.

“How is she supposed to know?” Tarrlok’s voice whispered in his ear. They had had this conversation before, when Noatak was feeling particularly vocal and hissed his rage at Tarrlok when they had a rare, private moment in their own home.

“We’ve never told her,” he defended her loyally, his eyes wide and imploring. “Don’t blame her, that’s not fair. How is she supposed to know if we never said anything?”

 _She’s our mother!_ Noatak wanted to scream at him. He refused to believe she didn’t know what was happening – that _something_ was happening. No one was that _stupid_. She just didn’t want to _admit_ it. Didn’t want to _face_ the idea that perhaps her perfect little family was tearing apart from the inside out. That her husband was becoming someone she didn’t marry and her children were becoming twisted versions of themselves that she did not raise.

 _Abandoned_ , Noatak finally decides. She abandoned them to the mercy of their father. She knew and she did nothing. Their own mother.

“Bitch,” he mutters to himself, rolling onto his side and glaring at the side of the ship, now. _Bitch_.

Once again, he sorely wishes Tarrlok is here with him. Then his little brother, at least, could have someone to depend on. And so could Noatak.

Them against the world. That is how it should be. As it always has. Noatak’s expression softens as he allows himself to daydream, and he turns back to the stars and sighs.


	13. 2.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Korrik can pull off "good-natured smirk".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A morosely short chapter given the amount of time between the last and now, but here you go anyways. However, next chapter we get to meet Lieutenant! Yaaaay Lieutenant! Yaaay relevant canon characters at last!

Two days later, they land at a northern city in the Earth Kingdoms. Noatak practically runs up deck to see it, excited to see his first Earth Kingdom city.

It is not, he is disappointed to see, as he had imagined. What he had expected were tall buildings, roads, lights – technologies that he knows are common in large cities such as Ba Sing Se and Republic City, but have not quite reached the North Pole. But this city is more like a town: small and modest, with some large public buildings and smaller houses stacked up against each other.

“Welcome to Fenghao,” Xuan murmurs to him as he passes by. “Not much, huh?”

“Not as much as I thought,” Noatak agrees. Xuan laughs a little as they get off the ship.

“You’re right,” Xuan agrees, “but home is home.”

Noatak feels himself blush. “Oh, you live here?” If he had known that, he would not have been so rude.

“Don’t worry, Noatak,” Xuan smiles in that kind way of his. “I hope you enjoy it, anyway.”

Noatak is about to say something back, but suddenly Korrik shoves past him yelling something that sounds like, “I’m _ho-oo-ome_ , mommy Xuan!” and starts running towards a home that Noatak can only assume belongs to Xuan. His smile grows a bit bigger as he turns back to Noatak.

“Why don’t you visit?” he suggests. “Since you’re new here, we can help you get on your way.”

“Thank you,” Noatak bows. “I’d be very grateful.”

Xuan waves him forward and leads the pair after Korrik. The house is made of clay and brick, and the roof is made of wood. Noatak reaches for the wall and runs his hand along it. Obviously it is not cold, like ice, but is also not completely smooth. It’s a little bit bumpy and a little bit rough. But it also feels thick and solid – more than igloos did, at least.

By the time they enter, Korrik has already made himself at home. He sits at the large dining table, entertaining a short, stout woman Noatak can only assume is Xuan’s mother and a tall, reedy man that he assumes is his father. His mother is cooking something that smells delicious, and his father is sitting at the table with Korrik. The pair of them seem to get along well; they exchange a joke and roar over it before going back to easy, if not rancorous, banter.

“I’m home, mom, dad,” Xuan announces himself, and his mother and father jump up and run to embrace him.

“Welcome back!” they say to him, and Noatak suddenly feels insanely uncomfortable. He tries to shove this feeling down – this is really not the time to start comparing this family to his own, which would honestly probably be more of an insult to Xuan’s family than anything else – as they turn their attention towards him.

“And who’s this?” Xuan’s mother asks.

“This is Noatak,” Xuan puts a hand on his shoulder. “He’s from the Northern Water Tribes. He wants to travel around the world and wanted passage to the Earth Kingdoms, so Korrik’s friend introduced him to us. He’s a master waterbender,” Xuan adds.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say—”

“A _master_?” Xuan’s mother exclaims, her tone admiring. “But you look so _young_! How old are you, dear?”

“Sixteen,” Noatak admits.

“Sixteen,” she repeats in a breath of disbelief. “That’s incredible. Your parents must be so proud!”

Noatak forces himself to keep a straight face. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.” He does not confirm the sentiment either way, but she does not seem to notice.

“Well, if I had known a _master_ would be coming, I would’ve prepared something more suitable!” she huffs and gives Xuan a light swat on the arm.

Panicked, Noatak raises his hands. “Oh, that’s really not necessary. I only recently became a master anyway. I’m not that special.”

“What a nice boy,” Xuan’s mother smiles at him admiringly.

“But not as nice as me, no?” Korrik calls from the table, apparently deciding Noatak has had enough of the limelight.

“You’re terrible,” Xuan’s mother replies without hesitation, turning and wagging her finger at Korrik. But he grins anyway.

“Noatak,” Xuan calls for his attention as his parents and Korrik banter, “if you want to put your things down, my room is through the hall in the back.” Noatak glances down the direction Xuan is pointing and says, “Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Xuan smiles kindly before returning to his family. Noatak begins to stride down the hall before he pauses when he hears another peal of laughter from Xuan’s mother. He turns for a moment to take in the scene: two adults, smiling, warm, with their son and his boyfriend, happy and safe. Noatak is not sure if he feels bitter or glad to witness such as thing.

He shakes himself – Xuan is not at fault for the circumstances of Noatak’s birth, no matter how unfair it might seem or feel (“Life’s not fair”) – and continues down the clay hall. There is a bathroom in this direction, and a large room with a large bed that Noatak assumes is Xuan’s parents’ room. That leaves one bedroom at the end of the hall, with a single bed and a bundle of blankets and pillows prepared in the back corner – for the many times Korrik has stayed over, no doubt. Noatak places his pack at the base of the dresser and sighs a little. He can still hear the family talking in the living area, but here, in this back room, Noatak feels alone and relaxed for the first time in a while. He had been on a ship for the better part of a week, after all. For a moment, he allows himself to enjoy the solitude this little room provides him.

After a minute or two, Noatak reemerges to find that dinner has been prepared, and the family has dragged a multitude of mismatched chairs and stools around their modest table to accommodate everyone.

“Master Noatak!” exclaims Xuan’s father, and even though Noatak is fairly certain he is just being dramatic and teasing, the young man still feels himself blush and mumble, “You don’t need to call me that.”

“C’mon, _Master_ ,” Korrik leans over the table with a smirk on his face, “don’t you think we should refer to you with the title you’ve earned?”

“Shut up, Korrik,” Xuan says softly, but his voice is firm. He gives Korrik a light swat on the head. “It bothers Noatak.”

“He doesn’t seem to say so.”

“That’s because he’s polite. Although I don’t blame you for being unfamiliar with it.”

That earns a chuckle from Noatak and more laughs from Xuan’s parents, although Korrik is hardly fazed. He only grins, evidently proud.

“Yeah, but you’re still here, aren’t you?” Korrik points out, slinging an arm around Xuan’s shoulders.

“Inexplicably,” Xuan agrees.

“Noatak, sit down,” Xuan’s mother encourages him with a wave of her hand.

“Thank you,” Noatak nods as he joins them at the table. The food is heavier than he is used to, with warm noodles and glazed poultry and fish – and rice. Lots of rice.

“Not quite Water Tribe delicacies, huh?” Korrik nudges him with a knowing smile and Noatak shrugs.

“It looks good,” he says noncommittally. And when he takes the first bite, he is pleasantly surprised at the taste. It is good, if not salty and rich. But that does not stop him from taking a second bite.

“I’m glad you like it,” Xuan’s mother says fondly.

The conversation turns to Korrik and Xuan’s recent travels, which Noatak is content to allow them to explain to Xuan’s parents as he takes a small sample of everything on the table. There are some sour things, some spicy things, and some sweet things. Noatak’s mouth is not quite sure what to do with all of the side dishes and rice that are offered at the table, but he continues, undeterred. He finds himself full before anyone else has finished half of their meals, however.

No one else seems to notice, though, and Noatak does not mind. He sits and listens to the conversation, and once in a while entertains himself with the idea that he is also part of this family, not just an incidental guest, and he too, grew up happy and loved.

This line of thought quickly depresses him, however, and he is not eager to cry in front of his hosts. He wrestles himself back to cold reality as everyone finishes their dinner.

“So, Noatak,” the conversation finally turns to him, and Noatak turns to Xuan’s father.

“Sir.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Oh, anywhere, I guess,” Noatak smiles evasively and shrugs. “I don’t really have a plan.”

“Anywhere, huh?” Xuan’s dad rubs his chin. “But you’ve never been to the Earth Kingdoms before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then you _have_ to go to Republic City!” Xuan’s mother claps her hands together gleefully. “Of course, it’s not _technically_ part of the Earth Kingdoms, but…”

“Yes, that’s what everyone’s been telling me,” says Noatak.

“Omashu and Ba Sing Se are pretty good options too,” Xuan points out over the rim of his teacup. “They’re between here and Republic City, so they’re worth a visit.”

“Also what everyone’s been telling me,” Noatak quirks a brow. Xuan smiles.

“Then, perhaps you might consider listening to everyone,” Xuan replies as he finishes his tea.

When the conversation at last dies down, it is considerably dark outside, and Noatak finds himself stretching and yawning.

“Come on,” Xuan claps his shoulder, “you should sleep if you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh, _tomorrow_?” Xuan’s mother frowns. “But you just got here! You can’t stay and rest for another day or two?”

“That’s very kind of you,” Noatak smiles politely, “but that’s alright. I’d rather get going as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”

Xuan’s mother huffs again. “Well, if you had _told_ me, I would’ve prepared something extra for you! To take on your travels!”

“Oh, no, that’s really fine.”

“Don’t give me that,” she flaps her hand at him. “Why, if it was your mother in my place, I’m sure she’d do the very same for Xuan. A mother’s love is universal, you know.”

Noatak’s smile does not falter, although perhaps it stiffens just the slightest bit. “Thank you, honestly, but really – I’ll be fine. You’ve been so hospitable already.”

Xuan’s mother puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head a little, but before she can say anymore, Xuan takes Noatak by the shoulders and drags him down the hall. Korrik follows close behind.

“Sorry about her,” Xuan mutters into Noatak’s ear.

“It’s fine,” Noatak shakes his head. “She’s really nice.”

“That’s one word for it,” Noatak can almost hear Xuan’s smile.

When they enter Xuan’s room, Xuan immediately begins unravelling some of the blankets that Noatak had seen before.

“I can—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Xuan interrupts Noatak. “You’re my guest.”

“Let him do his thing,” Korrik sniffs disapprovingly as he leans against the wall. “Kid runs himself into the ground for no good reason, and doesn’t let anyone stop him. Stupid annoying.”

“But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Inexplicably,” Korrik agrees with a good-natured sneer.

Soon, Xuan has set up two sets of bedding on the floor. He throws a few pillows on top of them for good measure before presenting them with mock grandeur.

“Your sleeping arrangements, sirs.”

“Gee,” Korrik rolls his eyes, “you shouldn’t have.” He collapses onto one of the sets of sheets regardless, stomach first, and buries his face into the pillow.

“Good night, losers,” he sighs to them, his hand flopping about in the air in a sad excuse of a wave before it drops. Not two seconds later, Korrik is lightly snoring.

“That was fast.”

“Never underestimate that man,” Xuan laughs softly as he begins undressing into more comfortable clothes. Noatak does the same, reaching into his pack and taking out the pajamas he had acquired from Etka so long ago. The shirt is still too big, but he finds he prefers it this way.

“Good night, Noatak,” Xuan says at last when they are finally in their beds.

“Good night, Xuan,” Noatak replies as he pulls the sheet over his chin.

“Shut _up_ ,” Korrik moans into his pillow. “Trying to _sleep_.”


End file.
